The Childhood of a Sociopath
by wh0lockian
Summary: Sherlock wasn't always the sociopath he is now, he just had a push in that direction, leading himself to believe it was true... THIS STORY IS SET IN MODERN DAY. I don't know about the 80s so I've stuck to what I know so it's a bit AU but not really. Kid!lock Teen!lock School times. Will be undergoing rewrite when finished.
1. The Baby

Hey guys! new story about how I think Sherlock grew up with his family and people he knew. I've tried to make it so that it would follow the original story line of the BBC Sherlock program so in other words there will be no John (sorry if you were expecting that!). I'm planning to add in Lestrade, Donovan and Anderson in future to hopefully make it a bit more interesting!

hope you enjoy it!

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**The Baby**

The tall woman walked into her mansion from the cold winter rain. Her heels hit the floor loudly as she entered.

"I'm home!" she called down the long hallway. She took off her coat and gave it to the young maid waiting. "Never again..." she muttered to herself.

"Mummy!" cried a young boy running out of the games room. He hugged her round her waist.

"Hello dear." she said tapping the boy on the head before peeling his arms away from her.

"Where is he mummy?" he asked, excitement in his eyes.

"Coming..." she said turning to her husband who had emerged from his library. "You are never making me go through that again..." she said in an angry hushed tone to him. She walked up the stairs. "Jessica!" she called to her maid. "Run me a bath!" she disappeared at the top of the staircase.

Their butler carefully opened the front door with a small bundle in his arms.

"Jonathan, is that him?" the boy asked excitedly.

His father took the bundle from the butler. He looked at the small face looking up at him. The baby smiled.

"Hmm." the man said and passed him back to the older man. "Another boy. How disappointing." he walked away back into his library. The remaining pair could hear the faint sound of water running.

"What's his name? Can I hold him?"

The elderly gentleman smiled at the boy. He carefully passed the baby into his arms. "Of course master Mycroft. His name is Sherlock."

The seven year old smiled down at the baby boy in his arms, revealing the gaps where he had lost his teeth.

Sherlock looked up at him and smiled. He reached out his small hand and touched his face.

"Hello Sherlock..." said Mycroft. He turned to his butler. "Thank you."

"That's not a problem master Mycroft." he said as he held out his hands to take the baby back. "He needs to rest for now. You can hold him later." he said with a smile. Mycroft nodded and handed the boy back to him. Jonathan walked up the stairs to the baby's nursery.

Mycroft ran up to his room, anticipating for the baby to wake up so he could hold him again.

* * *

"...and then if you mix red with blue, you make purple!" said Mycroft excitedly at the baby, who was currently fascinated with his new toy. He was slotting the circle shape easily in the circle hole when he looked up and smiled at his brother. Mycroft sighed. "Are you listening to me?"

Sherlock quickly put the square block in the square hole and pushed his toy away. He crawled over to Mycroft. He squeezed his index finger in his small hands and Mycroft smiled.

"Being a baby is so easy." he said to Jonathan as he entered the room.

"Well he will not be one for long master Mycroft. Make the most of it." he said as picked up the baby and put a bottle to his mouth. "Before you know it, he'll be a big boy like you."

"Can I feed him?" he asked, hope shining in his eyes.

"If you want to sir." he said, cautiously placing the baby in his arms and giving him the bottle. "Be careful..."

"Jonathan!" called Julie Holmes from the hallway. "Jonathan where are you?"

She walked into the games room where the boy was feeding his brother.

"What on Earth is going on?" she yelled at him.

Mycroft looked at his mother. "I'm feeding Sherlock." he said looking back at his brother.

"I know Mycroft, I'm not stupid." she snapped angrily. "Now give that child back to Jonathan and get on with your school work. Jessica has laid out your suit on your bed for later."

Mycroft sighed and passed the baby back to the butler. He left and walked to his work room.

"Jonathan, hurry up and feed that child!" she looked in the mirror and checked her hair. "Put it to bed, the guests will be arriving soon. I don't want a baby ruining my night." she walked out the room with a dramatic sigh.

"Yes Madam..." said Jonathan, giving the baby a pitiful look. He took the empty bottle out of it's mouth and walked up the grand staircase to put him in his cot.

* * *

Mycroft ran up the stairs. He was fed up with talking to a group of boring uninterested adults. He heard the faint sound of crying and walked towards Sherlock's nursery. He opened the door to find Jessica rocking the baby in her arms.

"Shh..." she said. She jumped slightly as she saw the young boy enter. "Oh, master Mycroft, you made me jump!" she said with a small smile before desperation returned to her face. He felt sorry for her, being given the burden of looking after a baby all night. She had been working hard all day too.

"Let me try?" he asked.

"Erm..." she looked hesitantly at the boy. "If you think you can get him to sleep..." she said while passing the crying baby to him.

Mycroft looked at his baby brother. The baby ceased crying and sniffed. Sherlock looked up.

"Oh thank god for that!" said Jessica with a happy tone. "Thank you master

Mycroft..." she stepped closer to take the baby and put him in the cot. She yawned.

"No it's ok Jessica..." he said, still holding onto the boy. "I'll put him to bed. You should rest."

"Erm... Okay... Be careful..." she said before hesitantly leaving the room.

He looked at the baby in his arms.

"Mycroft..." Sherlock said sleepily. "Bwue... Red... Pur, purple..." the baby's eyes closed.

A proud smile spread across Mycroft's face. His little brothers first words...

"Don't worry Sherlock, I'm going to look after you. Whatever happens, I'll be there for you..."

He put the baby in his cot and turned the light off.

He returned downstairs, his mood much better than before.

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That's all for now! I'm hoping to do daily updates so keep reading! any rates or reviews would be great! I'm open to suggestions :)


	2. Sad Pirate

**Hey guys! Thanks for the really nice reviews! Hope you enjoy this chapter :)**

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**Sad pirate**

"Mycroft!" the four year old Sherlock shouted down the hall, running towards his work room. "Mycroft, can we play pirates now?"

"Sherlock I'm busy..." he said, writing out his the next math problem on a piece of paper.

"It's not fair!" he said with a frown and a pout.

"I know it's not Sherlock." he turned to his brother. He had grown so much in the last four years. His dark curly locks bounced up and down on his head each time he took a step and his blue green eyes could look deep into your soul.

Sherlock sighed. "What are you doing?" he asked pulling a chair next to his brother. He peered at the numbers on the paper in front of him.

"Algebra." he said with a small smile. He liked it when Sherlock showed an interest in his work. He tried to teach him whatever he could until the boy lost interest, complaining he was bored. "Mummy wants me to be ahead before I go to school at the end of summer."

"But you're leaving." Sherlock said sadly. He pouted. Mycroft was to attend boarding school in September and Sherlock was not accepting it. His brother had always been there for him. His parents didn't care about him. He knew they had wanted a girl. He only had Mycroft, Jessica and Jonathan as friends but his brother was leaving soon and the staff had been extra busy lately.

Mycroft put down his pen. "How about a treasure hunt?" he asked and Sherlock's face lit up.

"Okay!"

"Right I'll give you one clue and you have to try and find the golden treasure."

He was glad he had hidden them before on another treasure hunt so he could keep Sherlock entertained in the future.

"This is going to be fun!"

"Two stars to the right and straight on till morning." he smirked at his Peter pan reference. He knew that it was currently Sherlock's favourite film, but that was only because it had pirates in it. Sherlock had taken a hanger and been running around all week claiming to be captain hook. It had amused his brother but his parents had found it irritating and didn't take too lightly to the matter.

Sherlock frowned for a few seconds before he ran out of the room excitedly.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft heard his father shout. "Don't you dare run in his house!"

"Sorry father..."

Mycroft sighed and continued with his work.

He spoke aloud to himself "y=2x+7 so x equals... X equals y minus 7 over 2..." he said scribbling it down. He smiled. He had always liked maths. Knowing that there was always a right answer comforted him.

Suddenly Sherlock ran back in with the golden coins.

"Arr, I found ye gold!" he said in what he thought was a brilliant pirate impression.

Mycroft looked at him puzzled. "How did you find them so fast?" he asked.

"Two stars, so father's astronomy room and straight on till morning so look through the east window to where the horizon is and the gold would be there. The greenhouse was so predictable."

The corners of Mycroft's mouth twitched up. "I've taught you well."

Sherlock grinned broadly and ran out of the room to add the gold to his collection.

"Sherlock!" he heard his father cry angrily again. Sherlock span around to face him. He gulped. He knew what happened when he was caught running twice.

SLAP!

His cheek burned with pain. Tears pricked his eyes.

"Sorry father..." he said and walked up the stairs hastily, making sure it wasn't a run.

Mycroft felt a pang of guilt form in his stomach. He knew that if he hadn't got

Sherlock all excited over some stupid plastic coins he wouldn't have had that pain, but he knew better than to go against his father; he had the scars to prove it.

Sherlock closed the door to his room and flopped onto his bed. He pulled his duvet around him tightly and cried silently. It wasn't the first time his father had hit him, he had experienced much worse. He once had to go to hospital for a broken arm after he 'fell over on his trampoline'. Sherlock had found having a cast quite interesting though, especially when Mycroft drew a parrot on it. Sherlock had run around with his arm on his shoulder all day claming to be Blackbeard.

He sighed. He needed to be strong. He thought of a positive. He was starting school in September. He could make new friends and meet new people.

He allowed a smile to cover his face. He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

* * *

Summer soon ended. Sherlock had stayed inside, sitting with Mycroft while did did his extra work, and so looked quite pale due to the lack of exposure to the sun. It didn't take long before Sherlock picked up what his brother was doing.

"You know," said Mycroft, packing the remainder of his belongings. "you're going to be fine Sherlock."

His brother looked at him doubtfully.

"Sherlock..." he hugged him. "You've got school to look forward to. You're going to be the smartest one there." he crouched down so he was level with him. He looked in his eyes. "You have to stay strong. Don't forget I'm only a phone call away if you need me." he squeezed his shoulder.

"But I don't want you to go..." said Sherlock wiping away a tear.

Mycroft sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. "Look Sherlock I can't stay. I have to go. I'll be back for Christmas before you know it." he said with a small smile. He knew he would miss him dearly but he couldn't tell him that.

He turned back to his packing. Sherlock walked out of his brother's room and entered his own. He sighed and sat at his desk. He looked at the card he had made for his brother as a goodbye present. He picked it up and put it inside of his jacket.

He heard his brother leave his room and walk downstairs. Sherlock quickly slid into Mycroft's room and put the card in his case. He ran out and back into his own room.

He smiled. He thought it would be a nice surprise for Mycroft when he got there.

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**Did you like it? I hope so anyway :P Next chapter up tomorrow! R&R!**


	3. Anderson

**Anderson**

"Jonathan, what's this for?" asked Sherlock, holding up a tie. The butler smiled at him and held out his hand. Sherlock placed the piece of fabric in his hands and allowed the older man to tie it around his neck.

"I don't want to go." he said firmly.

"Master Sherlock, I'm afraid you have to go. School is very important." he said with a smile. "It's okay if you're nervous. Don't worry, everyone will be."

"Mycroft said I was clever. Why do I need to go to school if I am clever?"

"Even clever people go to school and you, master Sherlock, are a little genius."

Sherlock smiled briefly at the kind butler. He looked out the window to see the rain pouring down the window.

He walked into the hallway and picked up his coat and put it on. He pulled up the hood before putting on his satchel and picking up his book bag.

Jessica walked into the hallway to see him.

"Look at you!" she said with a large grin. "Are you excited?"

"School sounds boring." he said bluntly.

"Well you never know until you try, master Sherlock." she said with a smile and a wink. She walked into the kitchen to continue her duties.

He saw his mother and father leave the main living area and stand in front of him.

"Now Sherlock," his father began. "We expect you to be on your best behaviour. This is the most highly respected private school in our area. Do not embarrass this family."

"Yes father." he said in reply.

"If we hear you have caused any trouble you will regret it." said his mother coldly.

"Yes mummy." he said.

Thankfully, Jonathan entered the hallway.

"Master Holmes, Madam." he said to them with a small bow.

"Take him away Jonathan." said his father before leading his wife back to the lounge.

Sherlock watched his parents go and looked at his butler.

"Let's go master Sherlock." he said, clasping an umbrella in his left hand before opening the door with a small smile and leading him to a black Mercedes.

By the time they had reached the school, the rain had ceased. Jonathan opened his door and led him towards the building. They passed through some tall iron gates that were beginning to rust.

The pair stopped in front of the building. Jonathan crouched down and put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Good luck, master Sherlock. You'll be fine." he said with a gentle squeeze on his shoulder. He stood and walked away towards the car, looking over his shoulder twice to make sure Sherlock was still there and not running towards him like Mycroft had done 7 years ago.

Sherlock watched the car drive away and looked at the old stone building in front of him. He put his hands into his pockets and took a deep breath. He felt his phone vibrate. He pulled it out and looked at the message.

Good luck. I'll call you later. - MH

Sherlock smiled. He had almost thought Mycroft had forgotten it was his first day of school today.

Where do I go? - Sherlock

Go into the main building and it should be pretty clear what to do next. - MH

He put his phone away and took another deep breath before walking into the school building. He saw a group of children around his own age huddled together in the main hall. He would have joined them but thought it wise to ask the lady at reception what to do first.

He peered over the desk.

"Hello." he said to the woman who jumped slightly.

"Oh sorry dear, I didn't see you there!" she said in a strong Scottish accent.

"Erm... Where am I meant to be Miss?" he asked politely.

She smiled at him. "Call me Mrs Henderson. What's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Let me see... Holmes... Holmes... Ah yes here you are!" she said flicking through papers. "Are your parents here?" she asked with a frown on her face.

"No."

"Oh, well..." she handed a folder to him. "You seem like a trustworthy boy so I'll give this to you. Remember to give it to your parents when you get home." she smiled. "For now go and join the rest of your future classmates in the main hall. It was nice to meet you Mr Holmes."

"You too." he smiled at her. He put the folder in his bag and made his way over to the hall.

He looked around the building. It seemed very old but well kept. He looked at the group of people in the middle of the room. All of a sudden he felt very shy. He didn't know who to talk to or where to go.

His eyes looked nervously around. People had already started friendship groups.

Suddenly a boy came running up to him.

"Hi, I'm Josh Standon!" he shouted. Sherlock flinched at the volume of his voice.

"Sherlock Holmes." he replied with a small smile.

"Holmes?" another boy asked. Sherlock turned around.

"Yes." he said.

"Your brother Mycroft?"

"Yes..." Sherlock was confused. How did they know who Mycroft was? He had already left so they wouldn't have had a chance to meet him, unless they had an older sibling.

"He was in my sister's year." Sherlock smiled as he was right but it soon vanished when the boy spoke again. "She said he was a weirdo." he said with a smirk. Sherlock's hands clenched into fists. "Always doing extra work, sucking up to the teacher. He sounds like a rubbish brother."

Sherlock snapped. He lunged for the boy, punching his face and stomach. He knew where to hit the boy so it would hurt even more. He had learnt from experience. Several people turned around. Some started shouting _"Fight!"._ The boy fell down in pain. A teacher soon came running over.

"Freak!" the boy shouted at him.

"What on Earth is going on here?" said the teacher angrily. He held Sherlock by the arm and lifted up the other boy.

"He attacked me!" the boy cried.

"He insulted my brother!" Sherlock shouted back.

"Boys!" he shouted again and looked at them both with a cold glare. "This is no way to start your new school. First impressions are everything!"

Sherlock glared at the other boy.

"Names?" the teacher asked.

"Anderson." the other boy said, rubbing his face where he had been hit. Sherlock smirked.

"And you?" the teacher asked, writing down Anderson's name.

"Holmes." he said. He froze. He recalled his mother's words: _'If we hear you have caused any trouble you will regret it.'_

He gulped. He didn't know what to expect when he got home.

The teacher split them up and continued his duty of watching over the children. Sherlock could now see several people moving away from him. They must be scared…

A blonde girl slowly walked up to him.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Fine..." he said and walked over to a chair in the corner. He didn't want to talk to these people now. Anderson had put him in a bad mood.

He got out the book in his book bag and began reading. He noticed the other children giving him a few quizzical looks but he thought nothing of it. All he was doing was reading.

"Students!" he heard an old man's voice call. "Please take your seats!"

Sherlock put his book away and watched the other children hurry to a nearby chair. He noticed how no one sat next to him. He looked down sadly. Great way to start the year, he thought to himself.

"Welcome, new students of Bramwell private primary school." he said proudly. "My name is Mr Hunt and I am the headmaster here. We will shortly be putting you into your classes and getting your first lesson underway." he smiled at the four year olds in front of him. "I hope you will enjoy your time here. Make the most of it!"

_Boring._

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He knew this man was trying to be friendly and comforting but he was finding his voice dull and monotonous.

He closed his eyes and thought about other things while he was going through school rules and uniform.

"Now I shall pass over to Mr Garten." he indicated towards the teacher who had separated the fight earlier. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the man, hoping he would be a bit more interesting.

"Thank you headmaster." he said holding three pieces of paper. "I am about to tell you what class you are in. When I call your name, please stand. Firstly, reception class 1. Emilie Ashton, Jack Crawley, Jacob Dover..."

Sherlock closed his eyes again until he heard his name. He stood and looked at the other people in his class, reception 2. He turned to see Anderson who glared at him before turning back to the front.

"Can reception 2 please follow Miss Holloway." said Mr Garten, while pointing towards a young woman standing in the corner.

Sherlock looked at the woman. She seemed friendly enough. She had a knee length floral dress and long brown hair tied in a bun, with a small part of her hair falling down the left side of her face. She ushered the children over and they stood in line in alphabetical order. The new students followed her to their classroom for the next year.

Sherlock looked at his pirate watch. Only 15 minutes of the day had passed.

He was bored already.


	4. The IQ Test

Hey guys I just wanted to make sure that everyone understands that this is set in **modern day**. I would have done it in the 80s when he would have grown up but I don't really know much about the school system back then so I just stuck to what I know! Sorry for the confusion! Hope you like the next chapter :)

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**The IQ test**

Sherlock was near the beginning of his class' register and so was one of the first to enter the classroom. He looked around the room. The walls were covered in bright pictures and paintings by previous students, toys were scattered in a corner and there was a fake post office for children to play in.

"Choose your seats children." said Miss Holloway. Sherlock walked to the desk near the front and sat down. He noticed a large gap between the front desk and the white board in front of him. He figured that's where the class would sit during some lessons.

He stretched out his legs under the table and watched his fellow students enter the room. He saw how most had already made at least one friend and sat with them. His table had remained empty until children with surnames later in the alphabet walked in and filled his table, only because they were running out of seats. He felt sad.

No one sat next to him.

When everyone had finally settled, Miss Holloway began to speak.

"Good morning class."

"Good morning Miss Holloway." the class replied in unison.

Sherlock was full of butterflies. He couldn't wait to start lessons! With maths and English and science! It all sounded so exciting!

"Now, I will try and learn your names as quickly as possible, but to help, this morning we're going to make name tags!" she said excitedly. Sherlock just looked at her with a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

_Name tags? What's the point in name tags?_

"Now I have each your names written on a piece of card. You can decorate them in any way you like."

"Why can't we write our own names Miss?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

Miss Holloway looked at him confused. "You can write? And please put your hand up next time."

"Of course."

"Freak!" shouted Anderson from the corner of the room and some of the boys around him sniggered. Miss Holloway glared at them and they soon stopped.

"When did you learn how to do that?"

"My brother taught me when I was little." he said. He was confused at why she didn't expect that. She smiled.

"What's your name?" she said, flicking through the cards.

"Sherlock Holmes." he said politely.

She smiled knowingly. "So you're Mycroft's little brother?" Sherlock nodded. "I taught him in his second year. He didn't stop talking about you for weeks." she handed him his card with his name on it.

"Thank you." he said and flipped the card over so he could rewrite his name.

Miss Holloway smiled and turned back to the class. "We will be learning how to read and write throughout this year. These are your basic skills for life. If you find it difficult, don't worry, you'll get the hang of it." she smiled. "Name dear?" she asked the girl sitting opposite Sherlock.

Sherlock blanked out the rest of the time. He heard his classmates talking to one another but none uttered a word to him so he just continued with his name card. He had written his name in his best handwriting and drawn a swirly pattern in the top right and bottom left corners. He liked things to be simple so ignored Miss Holloway when she put coloured pencils on the table.

He put down his pencil and looked around the room. He looked at the paper on the wall and frowned. He only saw simple things and no science!

He put his hand up.

"Yes Sherlock?" said Miss Holloway was she crouched down next to his table.

"When are we doing maths?"

She laughed at him. "Maths is for big boys Sherlock. We're going to be doing basic numeracy, so in other words counting, adding and if you feel your ready, subtraction."

"But that's easy and boring." he said bluntly.

"Oh yeah? So what have you been doing?" asked Miss Holloway with an amused expression.

"Well this summer, Mycroft was teaching me algebra."

Miss Holloway's surprised expression made Sherlock smirk. "And you understand it?" she asked with shocked disbelief.

"Of course." he said with a small smile. She half expected it to be true, Mycroft was very passionate about his work and his brother so why couldn't the two mix?

"Wow Sherlock you really are something." she said as she stood up. "I'm guessing you can read, yes?"

"I love reading."

"Well I think you're going to be a bit bored today." she turned towards the door. "I'm going to teach the others how to write their names and count to 10 so would you like to go to the library?" she asked.

Sherlock's face lit up. "Yes please!" he said enthusiastically.

"Okay, follow me." she took his hand. "Miss Carter," she said to the teaching assistant who was currently talking to a small boy with glasses in the corner. "I'm just taking Sherlock to the library. I'll be back soon." she turned back to Sherlock. "How about we put your stuff on your peg okay?" she said, picking up his bags and coat in her other hand.

They walked near to the entrance of the classroom where all the pegs were. She found his name above one of them and placed his things on there.

"There you go. That's your peg and no one else's." she said with a smile.

"Thank you." he replied politely.

Miss Holloway led the way out of the classroom and to some stairs. She climbed them slowly so the small boy could keep up. They were quite steep for a 4 year old.

They walked down the year 5 corridor until they reached the library. Sherlock smiled broadly.

He saw bookshelf after bookshelf after bookshelf. There were comfortable chairs and beanbags to sit in and a little old lady who he guessed was the librarian.

"Hello Miss Holloway." The woamn said with a smile on her face. "Who is this young gentleman?" she looked down at Sherlock.

"Good morning Edna, this is Sherlock Holmes." she turned to the boy then back at the older woman. "He can read and write and he's only four... It's incredible."

Edna looked at the boy who was looking around the room excitedly. "Do you like reading?"

"Oh yes it's fun Mrs..." he froze not knowing her name.

"Call me Edna dear." she said with a soothing smile.

"I like reading Edna. I like pirate stories." he said with a grin.

"I can get you some pirate books if you like." she said.

"Yes please!"

"Thank you Edna." said Miss Holloway. "I'll leave you to it."

She left and Sherlock turned to Edna.

"Right young man, I should probably tell you the basics." she said with a small smile. "Each book is labelled with a coloured sticker." she passed him a piece of paper with every colour on it showing its difficulty, red being the easiest and violet being the hardest.

"It's the spectrum..." he said.

Edna looked at him in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"I read it in a science book. I like science." he said, putting the paper in his pocket.

"Well that is extremely advanced reading for someone your age..." she frowned "That's secondary school education."

"Thank you?" Sherlock didn't really know how to reply. Edna turned and walked to her desk and started going through some files.

"Have you ever done an IQ test Sherlock?" she asked, finding the paper she was looking for.

"No I haven't." he replied. "What's an IQ test?"

"It's a test to find out how clever someone is. They're told a number at the end and the higher it is, the more intelligent they are." She passed the paper to him. "Would you like to have a go before break?" she asked with a smile.

"Why do you keep a test in your files?" he asked.

"Just in case I meet an intelligent young man like yourself." she winked at him and walked to her computer. "There's a desk just over there. Just ask me if you can't read or understand something."

Sherlock walked over to the desk. There was a small pot of pens and pencils so he took a sharp pencil in his hand and opened the paper.

"I'll find you some pirate books while you're doing that." Edna said as she stood up and walked towards some of the bookshelves.

"Thank you..." Sherlock replied. He looked at the questions with a frown.

_This is easy..._ He thought to himself.

* * *

He closed the paper and gave it back to Edna.

"Just in time!" she said with a smile. "It'll be break soon dear, why don't you head back to class? I can bring the books to you later."

"Ok, thank you Edna." he said as he walked out the library.

He remembered the route to his classroom and began his stroll back. On his way down the stairs he saw Mr Hunt. He gulped.

"What are you doing out of class boy?" he asked with a frown.

"I was at the library sir. Miss Holloway said I could go there as they were learning to count to 10."

"And why aren't you learning how to count to 10?" he asked.

"I already know how sir."

"Prove it."

"1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10." He said quickly. "It's very simple sir."

The man smiled. "You're a clever one aren't you?"

"I don't know sir. I just did an IQ test so I will see after break."

The man let out a small chuckle. "Are you not returning to class after break?"

"I don't think so sir. They're learning how to write their names. That's baby stuff sir."

The headmaster smiled again. "What's your name son?"

"Sherlock Holmes sir." he said with a brief smile.

"Young Mycroft's brother?"

"Yes sir."

He nodded. "Now I can see why you're not in class. He was a smart boy. He taught you things, didn't he?"

"Yes sir. He was teaching me algebra in the summer."

The man's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You must be very intelligent to have understood that."

"Thank you sir."

"Anyway you had better be on your way back to class. It will be break time very soon."

"Okay sir."

The man walked away and Sherlock strolled towards his classroom. He realised how he was going to have to follow in his brother's shadow. He sighed as walked into the classroom and took his seat.

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**Thanks for reading! R&R!**


	5. Break

I hope you like the next chapter :)

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**Break **

Sherlock walked out onto the infant playground and sat on a bench. He watched the children run around in front of him. Some girls were playing with their dolls. He decided those were the girls who tried to look pretty, now noticing the clips and coloured hair bands in their hair. Other girls were running around with the boys so they were the tomboys.

He watched the boys. A large group had already started playing football so he classed them as the popular group, or at least he knew that's what they would become. Some were playing what he thought to be star wars, making light saber sound effects. They would become a prime target for those hoping to be a bully. The sci-fi freaks.

He found that putting people into categories comforted him. It meant that if one of them reacted in a certain way, he could predict others to react like it. Mycroft had told him stereotyping was bad but Sherlock didn't understand why. If people were similar, they were similar, right? Sherlock didn't understand much about the children in front of him. He didn't understand how they could just walk up to anybody and be friends. He thought he'd have a go and walked over to a boy sitting alone on another bench.

"Hello." he said shyly to the boy.

The boy looked up, half afraid. "Are you going to hit me?"

Sherlock frowned. "No. I'm Sherlock. What's your name?"

The boy still looked scared. "Ben." he said in a wavering voice.

"Would you like to be friends Ben?" Sherlock asked with a smile. He didn't understand what he was doing or saying but after watching other people, this seemed to be what they said.

"I... Er..." Ben gulped. "Why did you hit that other boy?"

Sherlock noticed how he had avoided the question. He sighed inwardly. "He insulted my brother."

"Oh..." the other boy said and shifted in his seat. Sherlock saw him scan the playground before hopping off the bench. "My friend is over there." he shifted awkwardly. "Bye..." he said and ran off.

Sherlock was sad. He felt dragged down by the experience and so returned to his bench. He stopped himself from crying. He had already gained a bad reputation and he'd only been there a couple of hours...

He saw Anderson with his group of 'minions' taking one of the girls' dolls. He recognised her as the girl who sat opposite him in class. She shouted and screamed at him but he just held it above her head, until she threatened to kiss him so he dropped it and walked away. Sherlock smirked. They were the bullies then. He rolled his eyes when he saw them look and him and begin to walk over to the bench on which he was sitting.

"Learnt how to write your name yet Anderson?" he said as they approached.

"You shouldn't know how to." he said coldly.

"What about counting to 10? Got that mastered?"

Anderson didn't know what 'mastered' meant but counted to 10 confidently, however, he missed out 7 and got 3 and 4 the wrong way round.

"Good, very good." Sherlock said mockingly. "What about 20?"

"Stop showing off freak!"

"Freak isn't my name. Would you like me to start calling you rat? That's what you look like anyway..."

Anderson punched him in the side of the face. Sherlock flinched slightly but He had dealt with much worse before than a four year old punching him in the face.

Sherlock stood. He was taller than all the boys in the group. "If that's all you can do I'll be going now." he said as he turned on his heels to walk in the opposite direction. Mycroft had told him long ago that if bullies tried to bother you, just ignore them and walk away. It worked on most occasions but Anderson had some settles to score.

"Come back freak. What are you, a coward?" he said with a smirk.

"No, I'm just not going to entertain you." he called over his shoulder.

Anderson snapped and ran at him. He wrestled him to the ground and punched him in the face again. Sherlock knew he was going to get a black eye. Anderson quickly stood up and started kicking him in the stomach. Sherlock went into a ball and held his head and stomach to try and protect them against the beating.

Sherlock had never experienced this kind of pain before. It physically and mentally hurt. He knew he would get bruising around his ribs and arms but the mental lain was different. He could only label it as rejection. At home it was different; he had someone to run to if father gave him a beating. Whether it be Mycroft or Jonathan or Jessica, they would all be there for him if need be. But at school there was no one and no where to run and hide.

"Hey! Stop that now!" shouted the familiar voice of Mr Garten. Anderson and his 'friends' quickly fled. Sherlock sat up and touched his face where Anderson had hit him. He saw a little blood on his hand. _Great._

He stood slowly and ignored the pain in his chest.

"Are you okay?" asked Mr Garten, his face covered with concern.

"I'm fine sir." he said.

"No you're not... Holmes wasn't it?"

"Sir I'm okay."

He gave him a small smile. "Come on let's get you to the nurse." he gently put his hand on his back and pushed him towards the school building.

"Sir, trust me, I'm fine." he wasn't lying. This was nothing compared to what he was going to get at home.

"No. Stop. You're injured. Being brave wont help you. You're going to the nurse and that's final."

Sherlock sighed. He was fighting a battle he had already lost. Sherlock really didn't want his reputation to turn into 'the boy who got into a fight and was then beaten up'. He knew he would either be rejected further or pitied. He hoped it was the latter so he could try make some friends.

The pair entered the building. They walked down the corridor to where the nurse was. Mr Garten knocked on the door. The nurse was reading a magazine when they entered.

"Hello Mr Garten." she said as she put down her magazine. She looked at Sherlock. "What happened here?"

"He was attacked." he said with a pitiful look in his eyes. "On his first day as well."

"I hit him earlier, I deserved it." said Sherlock, trying to not make himself look like a charity case.

"There were more of them you Holmes." he said seriously, using simple English so the boy could understand. "It doesn't matter what you did earlier, he could have hurt you really badly. Now tell the nurse what hurts and get yourself cleaned up." with that he walked out the door before Sherlock could protest.

"Okay, what seems to be the problem Mr Holmes?" the nurse asked.

"Nothing."

She frowned. "But what hurts?"

"Nothing hurts Miss." That was a lie. Everything was hurting, but he didn't want to look weak in front of a lady. Mycroft had told him that boys should always be strong around women. Sherlock didn't understand why but did as his brother said.

He trusted his brother like no one else.

He saw the concern on her face. She stood up and walked to the freezer in the corner and pulled out an icepack. "Put this on your eye. I can see a black eye coming on."

Sherlock took the icepack and covered his left eye.

She looked at his chest and put pressure on certain parts. Sherlock hissed slightly when she pressed an especially painful part. She lifted his top to find a large bruises forming on his chest and stomach. She sighed as she cleaned the cut on his face and lip.

"Take it easy okay? I'm going to write a note to your parents-"

"No!" Sherlock suddenly cried. He turned away from her.

"Why not?"

"They're... Erm... They're away for a while. You'll have to write it to my butler Jonathan..." he said. It was the only thing he could think of. He wouldn't give it to him, but he knew his parents didn't invade Jonathan's person life and so if they found the letter addressed to him, they would ignore it. It was one of the Holmes parent's few gold qualities.

"Okay..." she said suspiciously while scribbling some words onto a piece of paper. She gave the paper to him. "Keep the icepack and bring it back to me at lunch. You can go."

Sherlock walked out the nurse's office and put the paper in his pocket. He saw the cleaner's closet was open so he quickly snuck inside and pulled out his mobile.

"Come on Mycroft pick up..." he said as he heard it was ringing.

No answer.

He tried again.

Still no answer.

He sighed and out his phone away. He must be in class...

He walked out the closet. And back out to the playground where the classes had begun to line up to head back to class. He hid the icepack and walked to the back of the line. He saw Mr Garten talking to Miss Holloway and they both turned in unison to look at him. Mr Garten gave her a small smile before walking away to his own class.

The line began to walk into the building and Sherlock silently followed.

* * *

**I'm really sorry guys but I don't think I'll be able to update till Monday afternoon! Got a load of exams coming up so I need all the time I can get! I might not be able to update Wednesday either as I've got a day full of exams! :( hope you'll all forgive me!**

**Also, thanks for the really nice reviews guys! Reading them makes my day :) I might start replying to some at the beginning of the next chapter so if you have any questions or comments about anything just give me a review and I'll probably reply :)**

**Cheers guys! R&R!**


	6. Try With Your Left Hand

Aww cheers for the lovely reviews guys :) sorry to the haters out there :/ hope you all enjoy the next couple of chapters (I promised Musiclovesbest I'd put 2 updates on after the long wait!)

Musiclovesbest: thanks again! It's reviews like yours that make me all happy and spur me on to write more! Love you!

**Try with your left hand**

"Are you okay Sherlock?" asked Miss Holloway as he sat in his seat, the concern spilling out through her voice.

"I'm fine Miss." he said with a small smile.

"Okay, well, I'm going to teach them how to write their names now so if you want to go to the library again you're very welcome to."

"Thank you Miss Holloway." he said as he stood again and pulled on the bottom of his blazer. He put his hands in his pockets and walked out the classroom to the library.

Edna greeted him with a smile which soon faded as he saw his face. "Oh my boy, what happened?"

"I got into a fight."

"Why, I thought you were cleverer than that Sherlock!"

"The fact I am more clever than him caused it." he said and took a seat in the armchair. He swung his legs.

Edna sighed. "Oh well..." she smiled slightly. "I marked your IQ test. Want to know what you got?"

"Yes please."

"Well the average is 100 but you got a score of 164! That's incredible Sherlock!" she said with a wide grin.

"Is that good?"

"That's extremely good."

"Wow..." he smiled.

"Now you can show that off to your friends." she said and picked up the pirate books she had collected for him. Sherlock sighed. He had no friends to show that off to. He'd tried and failed. But tomorrow was a new day and he could try again.

He smiled at the woman as she put the books on the table next to him.

He picked up the top book and read the title.

_Treasure island_

Mycroft had told him about that book. He had always wanted to read it but father didn't have it in his library at home. He opened the book to find ink stamps inside.

"Edna what are these stamps?" he asked.

"They're for if you want to borrow a book. I stamp it for you and you have to bring it back a couple of weeks later."

"Do you mean I can take it home?" his eyes lit up. New books that he could read at home!

"If you like. Come here."

He stood and carried the book over to the woman. She typed in his name on the computer and scanned his book. She picked up her stamp and stamped in the date.

"You're the first person to have borrowed a book this year." she said with a small smile. "And you're one of few who actually want to read for fun. Most students only take out their reading books."

"They're the ones missing out, reading's fun!" he said with a small smile before returning to his seat.

"I couldn't agree with you more Sherlock."

Sherlock spent the rest of lesson time in there until he had to go back to class for lunch.

He picked up his lunchbox and followed the rest of his class to the dining room.

He sat at the end of one of the long tables. He watched as some people queued up to get their cooked lunch. Mycroft had already warned him that their dinners weren't very good and the cooking staff were grumpy as they were underpaid. He wasn't wrong.

He opened his lunchbox and looked at the food in front of him. He wasn't hungry so, while the staff weren't looking, he walked over to the bin and tipped the food in. He didn't need food at the moment so why waste his time?

He walked to the door but was stopped by a member of staff.

"Have you eaten all your food?" she asked, looking at him suspiciously.

"Yes miss." he opened his lunchbox and showed her the empty contents.

She nodded suspiciously and let him go outside.

Sherlock walked into his classroom and put his lunchbox back in his bag. He saw the clouds forming outside so thought it wise to pick up his coat. He put it on and strolled outside to the empty playground.

He walked around, taking in the grand building and field before him. A few other children ran outside and ran around, playing various games. Sherlock stopped walking and stood at the edge of the playground.

It didn't take long for the playground to fill up with children between the ages of 4 and 7. He watched them interact. He didn't understand how they could make friends so easily. It wasn't his fault the first time they had seen him he was punching someone in the face. Anderson had wound him up.

He sighed.

Suddenly, the girl who sat opposite him accidentally ran into him.

"Oh sorry!" she said and zipped up her coat and pushed her hair away with her left hand.

"That's okay." Sherlock said with a smile, ignoring the sting from his split lip.

She smiled back and ran off again to play with her friends. Sherlock felt slightly happy. He had spoken to someone without them automatically hating him!

Soon the sky gave in and raindrops began to fall. Girls screamed and ran inside quickly whereas the boys walked in, accepting they were going to get drenched, some even jumping in the puddles that had begun to form.

Sherlock walked forward into the middle of the playground and let the rain fall on him. His dark curls began to stick to his forehead and he could feel the water on his skin, through his clothes.

After a short while he turned and walked inside the building. He walked into his classroom and noticed his classmates now playing with the toys and pretending to be postmen and post-women. He took of his dripping wet coat and hung it on his peg.

"Class settle down!" said Miss Holloway as she entered the room. "Lunch is over.

Please take your seats." She smiled at Sherlock as she walked past. Sherlock pushed his wet hair away from his eyes.

The class quickly put their toys away and sat down. He noticed pieces of paper with people's names on them in yellow highlighter. Some had been traced well but others not so well. He remembered Mycroft doing the same thing when he had just turned 3...

"Ok children, please complete writing your names and then we will do a class activity." she said with a smile and general conversation began again. Sherlock looked around at his fellow students. He observed the girl in front of him. She had run into him at lunch.

He watched her as she attempted to write with a frown of concentration. He looked at her work. She was failing miserably.

"Try with your left hand." he said. He had noticed how she had been using her left hand for other activities.

She looked up. "Why?"

"Some people find it easier to write with their left hand. You probably will as you use your left hand more than your right."

"Okay..." she hesitantly put the pencil in her left hand and began to write. She automatically began tracing in a much better quality. She smiled. "Thanks!" she said before tracing her surname.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It was the first thing he seemed to have done right today. He might even make a friend. The thought excited him.

* * *

He exited the building to see Jonathan standing there with a black umbrella.

"Good afternoon master Sherlock." he frowned "What happened to you?" he asked.

Sherlock touched his eye. It must have started to go black by now. "I got into a fight at break."

"I do not think that is a very wise thing to do master Sherlock." he said as they began to walk towards the black Mercedes.

"It was his fault..."

The butler smiled slightly. "It always is sir." he opened the door.

"Freak!" he heard Anderson yell from across the car park. He turned around to see the boy sniggering at him. He scowled at him before entering the car. Jonathan closed the door and got into the driver's seat. He wished the journey would last forever considering he didn't know what misfortunes would occur when he got home.

_Way to start the school year..._ He thought to himself.


	7. The Return of Mycroft Holmes

**The return of Mycroft Holmes**

Sherlock was eating less and less everyday, claiming he didn't 'need' to eat. He convinced the staff that he ate his breakfast and lunch at the school and visa versa to the school staff. He took an empty lunchbox with him to the dining hall and just sat there. Sometimes he would take the occasional packet of quavers but that was a rare occasion.

He hadn't made any new friends after he got into the fight. Everyone judged him, even Jonathan was surprised by the uncommonly unfriendly characteristics of his classmates and Sherlock knew he always looked at the best side of everyone.

Anderson's group started calling him a stalker after he had told the girl opposite about writing with her left hand. Sherlock had been upset about it before, but came to terms with the situation and moved on, spending most of his time in the library. After a while he was worried he would soon run out of books to read. It wasn't a very large library and most of the books were designed for very small children with less than half of Sherlock's intellect. They would be too boring to read.

He was thankful for the Christmas holidays. Not only did it mean he could escape

Anderson, but Mycroft was coming home.

At the beginning of term, Mycroft had called everyday. He told Sherlock about what he had learnt and his new friends. Sherlock had loved talking to Mycroft. However, as the term drew on, his calls became much less frequent and much shorter.

Sherlock enjoyed Christmas but not for the usual reasons like presents and the family getting together. No, he enjoyed his time with Mycroft. Every year they would put up the tree and decorate it themselves. Last year Sherlock had found out that Santa wasn't actually real after noticing that Mycroft and Santa's handwriting was very similar. Sherlock had been upset about it for a little while but soon forgave his brother for lying.

Sherlock sat by the window in the main living area, watching the driveway, waiting for his big brother to arrive. He stared into the rain, watching the water hit the window.

"Hurry up Mycroft..." he mumbled to himself.

Then he saw the black Mercedes pull up to the large house. Sherlock's face lit up. He ran to the door and opened it for his brother, who was shortly followed by Jonathan holding his cases.

"Mycroft!" he shouted and hugged him round his waist. "I missed you so much!"

"As did I brother." he said with a small smile. He patted him on the head.

"You've grown."

"I know. I'm tallest in my class."

"Good for you." he said as Sherlock unlocked his arms from him.

"Father, mummy." he said as they exited the study.

"Mycroft." his father said as he shook his hand. His mother kissed him on the cheek.

"I hope your grades are staying high." she said.

"Yes mummy. I have all A*s." he said with a smile.

"Good." his father said. "When will your friends be arriving?"

Sherlock frowned. Since when were his friends coming? He wanted Mycroft all to himself. He wanted to run around playing pirates with him, finding treasure and looking for gold. He would even just sit with him the whole time as Mycroft described what he had learnt recently and not complain about being bored. How could he be bored with his amazing big brother around?

"They should be arriving Thursday afternoon, if that is convenient."

"That should be fine. Now go and unpack. We shall talk over tea at 3 o'clock."

With that, their parents turned and walked back into the study.

"Come, Sherlock. You can help me unpack." he said. Mycroft gave Jonathan a small nod before climbing the stairs with his suitcase. Sherlock quickly followed him up the stairs.

"Why are you talking funny Mycroft?"

"I'm speaking as I usually do brother."

"But that's what I mean. Why are you calling me brother?"

"That is what you are isn't it?"

"I suppose you're right..." Sherlock said as he entered his brother's room.

"Have you been touching my things?" he asked, frowning slightly at his younger brother.

"Only your old textbooks. School is so slow and boring so I have to teach myself now you're gone..."

"Give it a chance." said Mycroft as he lifted his case onto the bed and started unpacking.

"I have. It's so boring! They didn't even know how to read or write Mycroft!"

"Sherlock I taught you those basic skills. Not everyone has had that privilege."

"But some of them are so stupid!"

"No, they're average. If you had stopped and thought about that before throwing punches and becoming a sociopath, you may have made some friends. Having the right contacts is everything in this world. You need to have them to get somewhere in life, to achieve your dreams. And you might as well give up your give up your dream of being a pirate, they don't even exist."

Mycroft sighed regretfully. Before he could turn around and apologise, Sherlock had already silently left the room.

Sherlock walked into his room and fell onto his bed. He cried silently for the next half hour.

Mycroft may be back, but he had lost his brother.

* * *

Thursday came quickly and Sherlock knew Mycroft's friends would arrive soon. He noticed that three of the guest rooms had been prepared. Three friends, well two friends and one guy who hangs around with them who they use for 'contacts'. That's what Mycroft referred to them as anyway.

He knew this as two of them had rooms close to Mycroft's but the other room set up was nearer Sherlock's on the other side of the west wing. There were also other rooms nearer to Mycroft's but he was still further away.

He watched from his window as they arrived. It was their fault, their fault the

Mycroft he knew and loved was gone. They were the only ones who could have influenced him.

He scowled as he saw them pat each other on the back in greeting and enter the mansion. Sherlock moved back onto his bed and looked at the books he had taken home from the library at school. He frowned at them.

Pirate books.

He grabbed his book bag and thrust them into it.

_Stupid fantasy._

He heard a knock at the door.

"Come in." he said with slight anger to his tone.

"Master Sherlock, your parents want you to join them in greeting Mycroft's friends." said Jessica.

"Okay..." he said shuffling out of his room. Jessica patted him sympathetically on his shoulder. He sighed as he walked down the stairs.

"Stop sulking boy and meet these fine young gentlemen at once!" his father bellowed at him as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

He stood by his mother's side and looked at the four boys standing in front of him. His brother was in between a boy with short black hair and a blonde boy. The other boy had brown hair and had his hands in his pockets awkwardly. He was obviously the one with 'contacts'.

"You do realise they only hang out with you because of the people you know." Sherlock said bluntly to the boy. The boy looked at him with a slight frown and then looked at his 'friends'. Sherlock's mother slapped him on the back of his head.

Mycroft laughed uncomfortably. "He's joking." he glared at Sherlock for a second before looking back at his 'friend'. "He's just attention seeking."

"No I'm not." Sherlock thought back to their conversation earlier in the week. "Having the right contacts is everything in this world." he repeated. Sherlock looked at his brother and saw the hurt in his eyes before the anger returned. His mother grabbed his arm and slapped the back of his head again. Mycroft's friends smirked. "They don't care about you." he added.

"You ungrateful little brat!" his father shouted and grabbed his other arm. His mother let go and he dragged him away up the stairs. Sherlock struggled against his fathers grasp. He dumped him in his room and punched him in the stomach. He let out a cry of pain when he punched him again.

"How dare you embarrass us like that!" he shouted.

Mycroft could hear his brother's cries and shouts and ignored the guilt stabbing him in the gut. His friends smirked slightly while his mother led them to the main living area.

"Got what he deserved." the boy with black hair said and the blonde boy nodded.

* * *

Sherlock heard a knock at his door. He didn't reply. He just stared at the ceiling from his bed. He noticed the door open slightly. He frowned, now knowing it wasn't a member of staff, they can't just walk in without permission. It wouldn't be Mycroft coming to apologise, he's too proud nowadays. It wouldn't be his parents as they don't knock. The only other people are Mycroft's friends but they wouldn't care so he deduced it was the boy with the brown hair.

"What do you want?" he asked impatiently. It was his fault he got hit.

"I wanted to see if you're okay." he said standing awkwardly in the doorway.

Light streamed into his dark room from the hallway.

"I'm fine." he lied. He was hurting so much, physically and emotionally.

The boy walked into his room a bit more. "What do you mean they only want me for the people I know?"

Sherlock sat up, ignoring the pain in his chest and looked at the boy. "It's obvious they don't actually like you. You're room is separate from theirs and Mycroft was talking about having contacts earlier. Quite simple to realise."

"But you're 4! How do you know that?"

"I'm five. Another clue that you're not one of Mycroft's close friends as he would have mentioned my birthday to you last month, when he still cared..."

"Are you some kind of genius or something?"

"That's what my IQ says, but I all I do is notice things. You normal people just observe, you don't notice."

"That's a bit weird."

"That's what they say."

"Who?"

Sherlock turned his head to the boy. "Everybody."

The boy shifted uncomfortably. "Well thanks... I guess I should choose my friends more wisely in the future..."

"Good idea." Sherlock laid back down on his bed and averted his gaze back to the ceiling. "Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to let me sleep?"

"Erm... Yeah... Okay... Goodnight..." he walked out the room and closed the door behind him.

Sherlock smirked. "Now we're even." he said to himself as if his big brother was in the room.

As he predicted, the brown haired boy left the next day. Soon after he departed, Mycroft and co stormed into his room.

"Ah, dear brother, I was wondering how long it would take for you to come here..." he said while turning a page in a chemistry textbook.

Mycroft grabbed the book out of his hands. "Well done Sherlock." Sherlock frowned at him.

"I was reading that."

"Why did you tell him that? Was it because you were angry at me? You know how much it upsets mummy."

"I just told him what I noticed. It's not my fault you used him."

Mycroft glared at him and stormed out his room with his friends.

"Hey! Give me back my book!" Sherlock shouted after him. He watched his door slam shut and slumped back in his chair.

"It's my bloody book!" Mycroft shouted over his shoulder. It was the first time Sherlock had ever heard his brother swear and it shocked him.

"I hate you Mycroft Holmes!" he shouted at the door.

Mycroft's anger left his body when he heard those words and it was replaced with guilt and hurt. He had made a promise to his little brother to look after him, to always be there for him, but he had broken that promise and it broke his heart.

_I will protect you Sherlock,_ he thought to himself, _I will protect you for the rest of my life._


	8. Goodbye

Banjgkwke: glad you're enjoying it!

Musiclovesbest: hahaha, sorry about that! Just thought I should begin the 'hate'

process. Glad you're still enjoying it though! (Btw I write your name so much,

my iPad has saved it to memory :L weird right?)

Thanks for all the alerts and favourites! You guys make my day!

Enjoy :)

**Goodbye**

Sherlock walked into the library for the last time. He closed his eyes and took in the scent of the place: old books and varnish. He had read every book in the library by the time he had started his third year at the private school.

He had lost count of how many times he had grown out of his uniform and had to have it constantly replaced, include the time he accidentally set fire to it during an experiment at home.

He remembered sitting in his favourite armchair on his first day. He could now sit in it with his feet flat comfortably on the floor, rather than swinging in midair.

He smiled at Edna.

"Oh come here!" she said and pulled the eleven year old into a hug. Sherlock didn't like hugs but he hugged the elderly woman back. This would be the last time he ever saw her. He had grown taller than her in his fourth year, like he had outgrown everything else. He found school was far too simple and boring for him and he had grown up quite quickly, feeling several years older than he was, just lacking experience. However, he may have felt older, but he most certainly wasn't very mature.

Most of the other students in his year were getting their shirts signed by one another but Sherlock didn't want to waste his time. He thought it would be a stupid reminder of his time here, and why would he want to remember that? He said his final goodbye to Edna before he left the library.

Suddenly, the girl he had sat opposite in his very first year bumped into him.

"I thought I'd find you here!" she said with a grin.

He frowned at her. "Why are you talking to me Amy?"

"Sign my shirt?"

"Why would you want me to sign your shirt?"

"Because you're my classmate."

"No it's something more than that." he said as he circled her. "Why would you want the class reject to sign your shirt? You're one of the most popular girls in school. Just being seen with me would ruin your reputation, but to have my signature on your shirt would destroy you."

She looked at him. "It's because I know you'll do great things." he stopped walking and looked in her eyes. He could tell she was telling the truth. "And when I see you in the future, I want to know I left proud to know you, not someone you looked down at because they cared about what everyone else thought. I make my own choices in life, not my friends." she held up the pen. "Sign my shirt?" she asked again.

A small smile tugged on the corners of Sherlock's mouth. No one had ever been nice to him, let alone been proud to know him. He took the pen from her hand and wrote his name in a gap on her shoulder. "Thank you." he said as he passed the pen back to her.

"No Sherlock Holmes, thank you." she said before going on tiptoes and signing the collar of his shirt. She smiled at him.

She walked away, back to the playground. He followed her a couple of minutes later, taking his time. He didn't want to see these people, but the playground was the only exit.

He walked out into the summer breeze to see his year group having their photo taken by Mr Garten. He turned and saw Sherlock.

"Quick Sherlock! Get in the picture." he said with a smile. Mr Garten liked Sherlock, even though he had made a bad first impression. He taught him when he was in year 2 and for some strange reason, felt sorry for the boy. He had often wondered about the constant bruises that appeared around his body, but had presumed it was Anderson and his friends as they did try and beat him up almost everyday.

"We don't want the freak in our photo!" shouted Anderson. "It's bad enough we're going to the same boarding school, let alone having to look at him in a picture!"

Some of the other boys joined in and got in a verbal war with the teacher. They all stopped when there was a sudden scream. Everyone turned and looked at the direction in which the scream came from.

Amy glared at them all. "This is the last photo we will have together and all you're thinking about is yourself. It's sick. How selfish can you get?" some people looked down guiltily.

"Amy, stop it." said Sherlock from the front of the crowd.

"But Sherlock-"

"No. I said stop it. Thank you for trying to be nice but we all know I'm not welcome here." he turned to the group. "I'm sorry I am who I am." he scanned the mob before him. He remembered each time they had hurt him, whether it had been physically or verbally. "I would say it was nice knowing you, but we all know that would be a lie."

Sherlock adjusted his bag on his shoulder before he turned and walked towards the gate. He heard nothing from behind him. He smirked. He had stunned them into silence. That was the first time he had spoken openly to the year group and he was glad it had made a lasting effect on them.

He heard Mr Garten count down from 3 and then a loud cheer. It was the end of the day so he knew Jonathan would be waiting for him. He sighed and smiled. Some of the worst years of his life were over. He was grateful he wouldn't have to see most of them ever again.

"Take me home Jonathan." he said as he walked over to the car.

"Of course master Sherlock." he said as he glanced at the single signature on his collar. The butler smiled. He was glad at least someone had appreciated this boy.

* * *

Sherlock looked out his window briefly and watched the car pull up outside his house. His older brother emerged wearing a suit and carrying an umbrella. Sherlock rolled his eyes. He didn't know why he carried that umbrella, he probably thought it was a good look but Sherlock thought he looked like an idiot.

He casually strolled down the stairs and greeted his brother in the usual manor.

"Hello brother. How many people have you upset this year?" he said and got a smack on the back of the head from his mother. It was worth it to see Mycroft's face.

"Oh Sherlock you will never know." he said with a fake smile. "Father, mummy." he greeted.

"Mycroft, dear, congratulations on getting into Cambridge." said his mother, giving him a kiss the cheek.

"Government and politics... Interesting career choice brother. I always knew you'd be good at bossing everyone around." said Sherlock with a smirk, getting another hit round the back of his head from his mother.

"Sherlock if you're not going to say anything useful, leave us in peace." said their father with a frown on his face. No abuse, he must be in a good mood, for once. They always were in a better mood when Mycroft was around. He was their favourite child anyway.

"Okay." he said and walked up the stairs. He was conducting an experiment that needed to be checked anyway so made his way to his room.

He looked at his room and smiled. He only had to stay there for a couple more months before he could go to boarding school. He wouldn't miss home. It was a cold, unwelcoming place. He only had Jonathan after Jessica left and he was going to retire soon.

Sherlock checked his experiment and scribbled something on a piece of paper. He soon got bored and thought he would do another simple experiment. He got up and walked to his 'play room' which, to him, was his experiment room. His experiment room would be the only thing he would miss, but he hoped he would be able to use the labs at the boarding school.

He got out a flask of chlorine gas and put some sodium inside. He had seen this experiment before but never carried it out himself. He picked up a pipette and sucked up some water. He stood back slightly and released a drop of water in the flask.

Before he knew it, the sodium gave off a bright light and the flask got very hot and exploded. The glass shattered everywhere.

"Interesting..." said Sherlock taking a step closer to the remnants of the experiment. "So that's why you need the sand..."

His father burst into the room. "What the bloody hell was that?" he exclaimed.

"An experiment." Sherlock replied bluntly as he started to pick up the glass on the floor.

"You and your fucking experiments." he said as he slammed the door.

"He took that rather well..." Sherlock said to himself as he put the glass in the bin.

A few minutes later Mycroft walked in.

"Oh brother, when will you ever treat this room with respect?" he said mockingly as he observed the burn marks on the walls from Sherlock's previous experiments.

"I wouldn't expect you to understand respect Mycroft." he said as he stood.

Mycroft smiled knowingly. "Ah but Sherlock, I really do."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What do you want Mycroft? Come to gloat about

Cambridge? To be perfectly honest I couldn't give a damn."

"I came to see how my baby brother was doing."

"As if you'd care."

"Bad mood?"

"Since you arrived, yes."

"I'll leave you to it then."

"Please do, that would make my day."

Mycroft felt a pain in his chest. He did care deeply about his brother but he wasn't going to admit it to the boy. Sherlock hated him. He had said it enough times.

He turned and walked out the door with a fake smirk.

Sherlock cleared away the remaining sodium and walked back to his room. He took off his clothes and stepped into his en suite to shower.

He cleaned off the chemicals that had landed on his skin and washed his curly locks.

He came out the shower and put on a towel. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. He was uncommonly tall; being 5 foot 5 at the age of 11 was quite an achievement for him. He was skinny, very skinny. Most people thought that was because he was growing quickly and not because he didn't eat. They didn't know he didn't eat so that was an added bonus. It saved him wasting his time answering questions about being anorexic or something. He wasn't anorexic; he just felt food wasn't always necessary. He looked at his blue-green eyes, which unfortunately looked like his mother's. He saw his emotions flood through them. He blinked until he saw them glaze over, emotionless.

_Emotions only cause pain and hurt._

He sighed and went back in his room to get changed.

* * *

Thankfully Mycroft didn't stay for too long. He had moved nearer to where his university was. It had now taken over his life.

"I think you should go on a diet Mycroft." was the last thing he said to him before walking upstairs. There was no point in saying goodbye as he knew his brother would check up on him constantly. He was even paying one of the maids to give him weekly updates about his brother's progress.

The maid didn't realise he knew about the deal until one day Sherlock turned to her and said "Give Mycroft my best wishes." after an argument with the young woman. He smirked when she just opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish, unable to reply.

The fact that Mycroft had left already annoyed him when he decided to return two days before he left for boarding school.

"Marina boarding school is one of the best schools in the country." he said proudly while reminiscing about his school days. "I feel privileged to have attended such a place."

"And I feel privileged to leave here." said Sherlock. He was putting his new uniform in his suitcase in frustration. "I would rather attend the worst boarding school in Britain than stay here."

"Brother it is a wonderful place." he rolled his eyes at his brother packing his old a level text books. "But of course you will know half the curriculum already."

Sherlock continued packing his things. "So I will be at an advantage."

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock. I know you. You will complain about being bored and decide you hate it."

Sherlock ignored him. He knew his brother was right but he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.

"Give it a chance Sherlock. For me?"

"Ha!"

"Well if you're going to be immature-"

"I'm 11 Mycroft, what do you expect?"

"I expect you to make the most of the opportunity you have been given."

"And I will when they talk about something I don't already know."

"Sherlock there are many things you don't know about..." he froze. "What is _that_?"

"A skull Mycroft. I think that is pretty obvious..." he said placing it into his suitcase carefully before zipping it up.

"Yes but why have you got one?"

"I got it ages ago."

Mycroft didn't press the matter any further. Sherlock pulled out another suitcase and began packing more things.

"How much are you taking Sherlock?"

"Everything I need."

Mycroft strolled over to his brother's case. "Really Sherlock I don't think you'll need a poster of the periodic table. You know it by heart anyway…"

"You never know what you may or may not need, dear brother." he said while rolling up the poster and putting it in his case.

"You do realise you will have to share a room?"

"And you do realise I don't care?" Sherlock span round and looked at his brother.

Mycroft stood there awkwardly. He knew his brother had knowledge beyond his age and it was really starting to annoy him.

"Got a new dream yet?" he said mockingly. After his brother had given up on being a pirate, he had never really known what to do with himself.

"Dreams don't come true." he said bluntly, turning back to packing.

"What about becoming a philosopher? You'd be good at that."

"_Boring_."

"Scientist?"

"Experiments are fun but the rest of it is boring. Too much paperwork..."

"You're going to hate coursework..." Mycroft sighed. "You have to choose what you're going to be soon Sherlock."

"What about _your_ dreams dear brother? Of course you want to run the country but not as prime minister, no, that's too much of a facade. It's obvious the government is run by someone else, someone in the shadows. That's going to be you, brother. The man who makes all the choices and blames it on innocent people just following your orders." he slammed his case shut and stormed out the room. He was fed up with talking to his brother.

Mycroft stood there for a short while in shock before composing himself and walking out the room.

Unfortunately his brother was right.

Didn't realise how long that one was! oh well, hope you liked it! R&R!


	9. Deja vu

**BloodyRosie: glad you're enjoying it. Smile.**

**Musiclovesbest: yet again your reviews make me smile! Sorry, no more innocent ****Sherlock :(**

**Thanks for the favourites and alerts!**

* * *

**Deja vu**

Sherlock shook his father's hand.

"We hope you will make a better first impression at this school than your last." he said.

"And that you're grades remain high. Getting the right qualifications is everything." said his mother.

Sherlock nodded. He didn't agree with her but there was no point in arguing. Qualifications were just letters and words on a piece of paper.

Sherlock turned to see Jonathan carrying the last of his belongings to the car. Sherlock followed him out to the car and helped the elderly gentleman lift his case into the boot.

"Thank you master Sherlock." he said with a small smile before going and opening the passenger door. Sherlock followed him and sat in the car. He turned to the mansion and saw his mother and father standing in the grand doorway.

He looked away and thanked god it was the last time he had to see them until Christmas, although he wasn't sure if he was going to stay at the school for Christmas or not yet. He hoped he would.

Jonathan sat in the car seat next to him and started the ignition.

"Say goodbye master Sherlock." he said with a small smile.

"It's not worth my breath." he said continuing to face forward.

The butler gave him a pitiful look before setting the car in motion. He had always felt sorry for the boy. Most people would call him rude and proud but he knew he put on that facade to cover up how much he hurt inside. He had abusive parents, he had been bullied at school and to top it off he had to follow in his brother's shadow. He even believed the boy to be autistic, taking comfort in being right and knowing things others didn't.

They sat in silence for most of the journey.

"Master Sherlock, I'm afraid I will not be bringing you back home at Christmas."

"What do you mean?" Sherlock frowned. He can't retire now, he just _can't_.

"I'm afraid I will be retiring at the end of the month. My health won't allow me to continue." his hands tightened on the steering wheel. The only reason he had stayed was so that he could look after Sherlock. Now that he was leaving, he no longer had a reason to stay. He could have left due to his health months ago.

Sherlock sighed and looked at the man sadly. "Cancer." he said. He had noticed his weight loss and back pain, along with his nails curling slightly at the ends. He had been having quite a few bad coughs lately too; clear signs of lung cancer.

The butler looked at him briefly and nodded.

"I'm afraid so master Sherlock."

"I'm sorry."

"No need to apologise, master Sherlock. Some things in life happen for a reason."

* * *

A few hours later they pulled up to the grand stone building. Sherlock got out the car and looked around.

It was about a 10 minute walk away from a nearby village. There were children and teenagers bidding farewell to their parents or guardians and greeting the friends they hadn't seen during the summer. He noticed new students crying at their parents, trying to convince them not to go. He rolled his eyes. _How pathetic_.

He turned to see Anderson saying goodbye to his mother with a long hug. He smirked. _Mummy's boy_.

Anderson saw him and quickly let go of his mother. He scowled at him. Sherlock rolled his eyes and assisted Jonathan taking out his cases from the back of the car.

"Master Sherlock."

"Yes Jonathan?"

"As much as I hate to talk badly about them, I knew your parents wouldn't give you anything when you left so I thought I should take the matter into my own hands." he turned back to the car and took out a small package wrapped up in brown paper and string.

Sherlock smiled slightly as he opened the package. Inside was a dark blue scarf.

"I was told we're going to have a cold winter so I thought it would come in useful."

Sherlock looked at the older man. "Thank you..." he put the scarf on and Jonathan smiled at him.

Sherlock held out his hand and the butler took it. "It was an honour serving you sir."

"Thank you Jonathan. Good luck." he released his hand from the handshake and picked up his cases. "Keep in contact."

"Will do sir. Good luck to you too."

Sherlock nodded and turned back towards the building. He walked through the large crowd of people and into the reception. He joined the long line at the desk. He looked at his watch.

Then Anderson walked into the building and joined the line behind him.

"Oh freak, it's you."

"Have a nice summer Anderson? No? Thought not considering your parents have been arguing and could be getting a divorce. Life goes on Anderson. Get over it."

"You haven't changed a bit freak." he glared at him.

"Nor have you." Sherlock turned back around and moved forward, ignoring the boy. Anderson kicked him the back of leg. Sherlock stopped moving forward and turned around to see the boy who had ruined his previous school life.

"Don't waste your time Anderson. We both know I can easily beat you on your own, without your minions."

"Like to see you try freak."

"Look at yourself..." he smirked "Still trying to prove to yourself you're a big strong boy. Look around you Anderson," he lifted his arms and span around "You're not the king of the castle anymore. There are people who attend this school who are practically adults. If you want to prove yourself, take on one of them and beat them. Then you will get the respect you think you deserve but we both know you will be beaten to a pulp and that would be the end of it."

Anderson glared at the tall boy. Sherlock smirked and turned around, finally reaching the desk.

He smiled at the woman behind the desk briefly before she spoke.

"Name?" she asked in a bored tone, not taking her eyes away from the computer.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Year?"

"First."

She rummaged through some files before passing him a file with his name on it.

"This has a map, your lesson timetable, uniform regulations, room number and key inside." she turned back to the computer in front of her where she was clearly playing solitaire. "Report to your dorm and change into your uniform before going to the hall at 11 o'clock."

"Thank you." he said politely before opening the file, taking out the map and looking at his room number.

He picked up his cases and walked towards the tall double doors. He walked through them and entered a long corridor. He looked at his map and turned left towards the dorms, then left again to head for the boys' dorms. He didn't need to look at the map to know this as he heard the squealing of girls from his right. He climbed some stairs and reached his floor. He looked down the corridor and saw some other boys already visiting each other's rooms.

Sherlock looked at his piece of paper and read the number.

"16..." he mumbled to himself and looked at the door on his left.

4.

He walked down the corridor and found number 16, quite near to the end of the corridor. He inserted his key and twisted the lock. He walked in to find his roommate already unpacking his things.

The boy turned round and looked at Sherlock.

"Hey roomie." he said before putting the last if his shirts in his chest of drawers. "I took the bed furthest away form the window if you don't mind. I don't like sleeping near the window, curtains annoy me. I hope they don't annoy you too or we have a problem on our hands. My name's Timothy Barnes but you can call me Tim. What's yours?"

Sherlock frowned slightly at the boy.

"Curtains don't annoy me." he said as he walked over to the bed and dumped his cases on it.

"Oh that's good then. I don't know why they annoy me they just do, like blue towels. I can't see the point in them being blue." Sherlock opened his first case and began unpacking his things. This boy was rather odd…

"Oh cool!" said Tim as Sherlock took out his skull and put it onto the desk. Tim quickly snatched it up and looked at it. "Do you like Shakespeare or something then? To be or not to be and stuff? I don't. The words don't make any sense." Sherlock was starting to get annoyed at the boy rambling on. "But I suppose that's what some people are into eh... Erm... What was your name again?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock? That's an odd name. I've never met someone called Sherlock before. Not going to forget that in a hurry. Do you want me to call you something else like, erm, Sherly? Lock? Lockie?"

"Just Sherlock." he replied. He was starting to loose his patience.

"Okay Sherlock, I'll call you Sherlock. What are you into? I love Tetris. It's such a simple game but I'm an expert. Do you-"

He was interrupted by a knock at the door. Sherlock rolled his eyes. Trust his luck to get the most talkative kid in the world as his roommate.

"Hi!" Sherlock heard Tim greet the person at the door. "Who are you? I'm Tim."

"Call me Anderson." Sherlock heard the familiar voice say.

"Okay Anderson! This is my roomie Sherlock. Funny name isn't it? I bet he has eccentric parents. Why else would they give him that name?"

"Ah Anderson, I was wondering how long it would take for you to show up." Sherlock said with a smirk as he span around to face the boy.

"Aren't you going to ask how I found you so easily?"

"No it's quite obvious. Straight away you come to the boys' dorms as that's what everyone is doing and then you just asked people if they'd seen me. I look quite unique so it's easy to remember me." he added with a wink.

"Freak." he said.

"Now that's not very nice..." said Tim and then turned to Sherlock. "How did you do that?"

"Because he's a stalker! Stay away from him. I've already warned some of the others. Sherlock Holmes, the stalker freak." Anderson interrupted before Sherlock had a chance to reply.

Tim looked at Sherlock a little worried. The tall boy turned around and continued unpacking his belongings. _Well this was going well…_

"Is that it freak? No argument? No nothing?" said Anderson with a smirk.

"I started our last school fighting you Anderson. I really don't want to loose any more valuable brain cells helping you with your anger management. How is that going by the way? Your 'expert' in the field given up on you yet?"

Anderson snapped and ran forward. He punched Sherlock in the stomach but Sherlock quickly grabbed him into a headlock and walked out the door. Several other boys in the older years turned around when they heard the commotion. Sherlock threw Anderson to the floor and walked back into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Sherlock looked at the stunned boy in front of him. He coughed awkwardly before putting the last of his possessions away.

He heard the boy walk out the door and then his muffled voice asking if Anderson was okay.

He sighed. It was primary school all over again.

* * *

**Hope you liked it! Sorry but I'm not going to be able to update tomorrow! Full day of exams :( please forgive me!**


	10. Chemistry

Sorry for not updating recently! Exams :/ changing this to a weekday daily update so it gives me more time to write and my weekends have been pretty hectic. I'll do a double update for you today :)

idonotgivemyname: oh... Don't really know much about babies so I was just guessing :P thanks for the advice, I'll use it to my advantage in future! They say you learn something new everyday so yeah :) The chapter was just him as a baby and I didn't really put and exact age on him but I suppose he would have been a really small baby at the time now I look back at it... Anyway, glad you still liked it though :)

* * *

**Chemistry**

Sherlock quickly put on his uniform and put his key in his pocket. Tim hadn't returned after helping Anderson and so he had given up on him, knowing they had become friends. He would have to put up with Anderson constantly coming in and out of his dorm room for a year. _Great._

Sherlock closed the door behind him and started to walk down the stairs. He felt his mobile vibrate in his blazer's top pocket. He took it out and looked at the message.

_Don't do anything stupid. - MH_

Sherlock smirked_. Typical of his brother._

He returned the phone to his pocket and made his way to the hall. It was 10:55 so he thought it would be an ideal time to go. He hated being early, waiting was so boring.

He walked into the hall to find most of the school already in there. He saw students were sat in year order, so he took a seat near the front. He ignored the intense gaze he was getting from the older years, some of them recognising him from the drama in the corridor. He laughed silently to himself. They were trying to find out all they could about the new students, trying to find their weak spots.

He watched as a middle aged gentleman walked out onto the stage in front of them. His hair was greying at the roots and he wore a wedding ring on his left hand. It was kept in good tact, clean on the outside but dirty on the inside so he didn't take it off very often, so he was in a happy marriage but his roots suggested he was stressed. Understandable as he is a head teacher.

The general conversation died down eventually and he began speaking.

"Good morning students." he began. "To the familiar faces, welcome back, and to those of you arriving this year, welcome to Marina boarding school. My name is Mr Crey. I'm sure you would have read through your packs by now and so are up to date with our rules.

"As you're probably aware, we will be doing swimming tryouts for the younger years for the upcoming swimming tournament. We are confident we can win this year." he smiled. "On a different subject, our new head boy and head girl have been announced. Please welcome Greg Lestrade and Susan Joy." he held his hand up towards the pair who had been sitting on two chairs on the stage. They stood up and walked over to the microphone.

"Hey guys, as Mr Crey said, we're your new head girl and boy." said Susan with a smile.

"We represent your voice so if you know a way to make the school better or just want a chat just come find us." said Greg. "You can usually find us in the head girl and boy's office near the main reception or in our dorm rooms. I'm on the second floor, number 7."

"And I'm on the third floor, number 11."

"Okay that's it. Thank you."

They received a round of applause before returning to their seats.

"Thank you Greg and Susan." said Mr Crey. "I hope you will enjoy the next year here. Work hard and do well in your exams. That is all for today. We will have an early lunch and then you will report to your afternoon lessons. Thank you."

The headmaster walked off the stage and conversation started again. Some of the teachers began leading the rows out one by one.

Sherlock checked his phone and walked out the hall with his hands in his pockets.

He began walking up the stairs to his dorm room, when he bumped into Greg Lestrade.

"Sorry mate!" he said tapping him on the shoulder. He frowned. "Not going to lunch?"

"No, food slows me down."

"Well, make sure you eat something."

Sherlock gave him a brief smile before continuing up the stairs. Greg looked at the thin boy and shook his head.

Sherlock reached his room and opened the door. He picked up his bag and took out his timetable.

"Monday, period 5..." he said aloud. "Chemistry double." the corners of his mouth twitched up. He liked the sound chemistry after reading his brother's textbooks.

He laid down on his bed and sighed. He was bored already. He looked up and saw his violin case resting against the chest of drawers.

He got up slowly and walked over. He placed the case on his desk and opened it carefully. He picked up the instrument and placed it on his shoulder.

He had first learnt to play when he was 7. Finding most activities dull, he thought busying himself by learning an instrument would help. He was right. At first he thought it was a hideous instrument, only giving out horrid screeches, but after playing for a few months, he found it became beautiful.

He felt he had perfected the skill, well perfected it as far as an 11 year old boy could, but he wasn't your usual 11 year old, was he? He lifted the bow and placed it gently on the strings.

He closed his eyes and let the music flow though him.

* * *

Sherlock put the map in his bag, just in case, and headed towards the science block. He rubbed his curly hair, trying to get it out of his eyes. He knew he needed a haircut but they never knew how to cut it right. He added that to his mental to do list.

He walked down a long corridor until he got to lab 2. He saw several of his fellow students standing outside, unfortunately that included Anderson and Tim. He leant against the wall, typing away on his phone.

The door to the lab opened and a short elderly man, no taller than 5 foot 3, stood in the doorway.

"Come in first years!" he said.

The students flooded into the classroom. Sherlock took a seat near the front. He could feel eyes glaring at him from the back row.

He turned around when he heard someone having a go at Anderson, claiming the back was his and his friends' row. Anderson apologised to the bigger stronger boy and sat in the row in front. Sherlock smirked. At least someone else could have the pleasure of humiliating him, not leaving the duty to him all the time.

He turned back to the front.

"Settle down!" the old man shouted while writing on the blackboard. "My name is Mr Ryan and today we will be looking at the periodic table."

Sherlock sighed and slouched in his seat. _This was easy stuff, boring stuff._

"Everything is made up of atoms and each atom is a separate element."

Sherlock groaned, apparently much louder than he originally perceived.

The teacher glared at him. "Problem Mr...?"

Sherlock looked up to see the man. "Holmes sir, Sherlock Holmes."

"Is there a problem Mr Holmes?"

"Yes." he said bluntly.

"And what is that problem?"

"This is boring."

He heard some sniggers from some of his fellow students.

"You may find it boring Mr Holmes, but you must learn the basics." he turned back to the blackboard. "Now, there are metals and non-metals-"

"But I already know the basics sir."

The teacher turned back around. He was starting to get frustrated. "Mr Holmes, I am beginning to lose my patience."

"I'm not trying to be rude, sir, but the periodic table is very simple. It's easy to remember."

"Oh really? I would like to see you try to name all the elements on the table." he smirked. "You can tell where the non-metals are on the periodic table by-"

"Hydrogen helium lithium beryllium boron carbon nitrogen oxygen fluorine neon sodium magnesium aluminium silicon phosphorus sulphur chlorine argon" Sherlock said quickly, hardly pausing for breath. His teacher stood there in shock, watching the 11 year old state all of the elements in order. "potassium calcium scandium titanium vanadium chromium manganese iron cobalt nickel copper zinc gallium germanium arsenic-"

"Okay Mr Holmes we get the idea..." said the teacher when he got his voice back.

"Freak!" Anderson shouted from behind him.

He turned around and glared at him. "Sorry I'm more intelligent than you Anderson." he said with a smirk.

"Mr Holmes!" the teacher shouted.

"Mr Ryan!" he said mockingly.

"If you're not going to say anything useful, I advise you leave this classroom."

"Okay sir." he said and the teacher turned back around. Unexpectedly, Sherlock picked up his bag and stood up.

"Mr Holmes!" the teacher shouted again as he moved towards the door. Sherlock stopped and turned towards Mr Ryan.

"Yes sir?"

"Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm leaving sir." he heard some more sniggers from the class. He turned and frowned at them. It wasn't funny.

"And why is that?"

"I'm not going to say anything useful."

"Sit down Mr Holmes!"

Sherlock shuffled back over to his seat, sat down and stretched out his legs. He blocked out the monotonous voice of his chemistry teacher and took out his phone. He began texting Mycroft.

_How did you survive? - SH_

It didn't take long for his brother to reply.

_Just listen, you never know, you might learn something - MH_

_They're doing the periodic table. - SH_

_I thought that was your favourite. - MH_

_Oh brother you don't know me at all - SH_

Sherlock put his phone away with a sigh and looked back up at the teacher.

"... And now we're going to do an experiment." he heard his teacher say. His head popped up in anticipation. "We are going to do the test for finding hydrogen, carbon dioxide and oxygen."

Sherlock sighed and slumped back into his seat. He had done this when he was 8.

Lit splint in carbon dioxide, flame goes out. Lit splint in hydrogen, makes a pop noise. Ember in oxygen, relights splint.

He rolled his eyes. He turned his head and looked at where the chemicals were stored. A small smile played on his lips as he saw chemicals he wasn't allowed access to at home.

He observed as he saw the students walk over to the cupboards to collect the chemicals they were meant to be testing. Sherlock stood up slowly and made sure Mr Ryan wasn't watching before he quickly grabbed some Nitroglycol from the cupboard. He smirked. They should have locked up this thing...

He walked back over to his desk, where he had already set up a Bunsen burner like the rest of the class. He put some of the Nitroglycol in a beaker and held it above the fire. Before he knew it, there was an explosion and he ducked.

"Fascinating..." he whispered to himself as he stood up. He turned to see the whole class looking at him.

"What the hell was that?" the old man shouted.

"Nitroglycol." said Sherlock, straightening his blazer.

"Okay everyone get out! Grab your things and leave this lab immediately! There are toxic fumes in this room!"

There was a small commotion as people quickly grabbed their belongings and left the room. Mr Ryan turned on the extractor fans as he left.

"Go into lab 4. I shall join you in a minute." he said to the class before turning to Sherlock, who was taller than the short 5 foot 3 man. "Come with me at once!" he said angrily.

Sherlock sighed and followed the man to the head teacher's office.


	11. The Deal

**The deal**

Sherlock took a seat outside the headmaster's office as his chemistry teacher walked in. He waited patiently while he heard the headmaster's concerned voice. He took out his phone and sent a text to his brother.

_Too late - SH_

_What have you done now? - MH_

_Wanted to see what happened when you heated Nitroglycol - SH_

_What happens? - MH_

_It explodes - SH_

Sherlock quickly put his phone away when he saw the headmaster's office open and his chemistry teacher leave. Mr Ryan scowled at the boy before closing the door and walking back to his science class.

Sherlock slouched in his seat as he heard another door open.

"Oh it's you again." said Greg with a grin as he stopped in front of him.

"Lestrade." Sherlock said with a small nod.

"Call me Greg. What's your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Interesting name." he shifted on the spot. "What are you doing outside the headmaster's office on the first day?"

"Wanted to see what happened when you heat Nitroglycol."

Greg laughed lightly and put his hands on his hips. "So you blew up the lab? Well done."

"No, Lestrade, that's an overreaction. I only made a minor explosion. No one was harmed. I really don't see what all the fuss is about."

Sherlock felt his phone vibrate and took out his phone.

_Why on Earth did you do that? - MH_

_Bored - SH_

He replied quickly and put it back away before watching Susan walk out the head girl and boy's office. She gave Greg a small smile before turning and walking towards the dorms.

"Well it's still bloody brilliant." he said with a smirk.

"Stop trying to get on my good side Lestrade."

"I wasn't trying to..."

"You want everyone to like you as you're head boy. Not hard to deduce."

"Well if people like me they trust me more."

"You've most certainly got Susan to trust you." he tutted. "Try not to be as obvious next time."

"What do you mean?" Greg asked uncomfortably.

"It's clear you're not using your office for _work_. Your dishevelled hair, slight glee in your eye, rumpled shirt, still a bit distant from the world in front of you, not to mention the lip gloss on your collar which distinctly matches the one Susan was wearing. Want me to continue?"

Greg looked at the younger boy. "How old are you?"

"11."

"That's quite impressive..."

"It's not hard to work out."

"Okay well I gotta go. See you later Sherlock." he said before putting his hands in his pockets and turning on his heel.

Sherlock watched the head boy walk down the corridor and round the corner.

"Mr Holmes, you can come in now." he heard Mr Crey call from his office. Sherlock stood and put his bag on his shoulder before entering the office.

He looked around. It was a very simple, basic room. It consisted of a desk, a couple of filing cabinets, a bin and a potted plant in the corner. On the desk were a few folders which were mainly files needing to be filled at the beginning of the new school year, a pen and pencil pot, a name tag, plated in gold, high quality, man of material taste, and a photo of a family, clearly his own, happy family man.

He looked up to see the middle aged man looking out his window to the beautiful countryside views.

"I must say Mr Holmes," Mr Crey began. "I was not expecting to have a first year in trouble in my office after the first lesson of the new school year." he turned around and faced the boy. "And I most certainly wasn't expecting it to be you. Please sit." he indicated towards the chair in front of his desk. Sherlock politely obliged and sat down.

"Mr Ryan informs me you took dangerous chemicals from his supply and used them irresponsibly and now lab 2 has been filled with toxic fumes that will take longer than a week to remove safely. What do you have to say for yourself Mr Holmes?"

"First mistake, I did not use them _irresponsibly_, I was in a safe laboratory with adult supervision. Second mistake, if those chemicals were so dangerous they should have been locked up and students shouldn't have been able to collect their own chemicals for their experiments. Third mistake, those fumes could be easily removed in a few days if you open a window."

"Mr Holmes, I do not think you understand the seriousness of this situation."

"I do not mean to disrespect you _sir_, but I understand the situation perfectly well enough to know that everyone and everything were perfectly fine afterwards, apart from the shattered beaker but that can be easily replaced."

The man looked at him and nodded. "You most certainly have spirit, Mr Holmes." he sat down in his chair opposite the boy. "Mr Ryan informed me that you did it because you were bored, is that correct?"

"Yes sir."

"And why was that?"

"Because I knew what he was teaching already."

"And how did you know that?"

"I read my brother's old textbooks when I was younger. It was quite easy to remember."

The man smiled. "You seem rather intelligent for your age, Mr Holmes."

Sherlock frowned. What was he getting at?

"I can see young Mycroft taught you things while he was here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm afraid my brother and I lost contact soon after he arrived here sir. I just read his old textbooks. The last thing he taught me was simple algebra when I was 4."

"Hm." Mr Crey locked his fingers together and rested his chin on his hands. "Can I make a deal with you Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock studied the man. "Go on."

"If you are prepared to sit in your lessons and accept community service for the next month, I will arrange for you to have extra tuition. Looking at your school records I can see you are far above average for your age. You are a very intelligent young man."

"What do you mean extra tuition?"

"I believe, Mr Holmes, that you could easily do some of your GCSEs early in the next few years. If you can already name every element on the periodic table, in order, I'm sure learning the GCSE science syllabus will not be too hard a task for you." he said with a smirk.

"I already know it sir."

The headmaster cocked an eyebrow. "Well I hope to see you do well in your exams. Do we have a deal?"

Sherlock sighed and thought it over. "Would I have to have extra tuition?"

"It will help you learn."

"I spent the last 7 years of my educational life mainly sitting in a library, reading things that I would end up learning years later and understanding them. I think I can handle a simple GCSE."

"If you say so Mr Holmes. Community service for a month and you can do your science, maths and English GCSEs early. Do we have a deal?" he held out his hand.

"Deal." said Sherlock, taking his hand and shaking it with a firm grip.

"I shall try and set it up for you Mr Holmes. For now stay in your lessons and try not to blow up another science lab."

Sherlock stood, put his bag on his shoulder and left the office.

He couldn't be bothered to return to his chemistry lesson, he knew the teacher already hated him and his classmates would be gossiping about him so decided to return to his dorm room.

Sherlock fell onto his bed and closed his eyes. _This was going to be a long year._

* * *

i know that was a short one but i didn't really know where to go with it... hope you enjoyed the chapters :) next one up tomorrow afternoon!


	12. Mind Palace

Sorry I didn't update yesterday! So much work and exam crap recently I haven't had a chance... double update for you though! Please forgive me!

theangelsarecoming: thanks!

* * *

**Mind palace**

True to his word, Sherlock did his community service. Unfortunately, this included doing litter picking duty. It had occurred on a few occasions that

Sherlock had been doing it all lunch, before Anderson thought it would be funny to jump him and spread the litter all over the field, causing Sherlock to be late for his next class and not have a chance to practice his violin. Of course most people would complain about eating but Sherlock was no where close to being most people.

He didn't let it bother him though. He studied, trying to remember all the facts for the upcoming GCSE exams that Mr Crey had managed to schedule for the end of his first year.

He was glad that his headmaster had put faith in him, but rather annoyed that the school had a _'no skipping years'_ policy. This meant he would have to sit through boring lessons with nothing to learn. He had enjoyed that occurrence at primary school as he could go to the library and have a nice chat with Edna, but here he was not allowed to leave lessons just because he already knew it. The teachers would either make him sit and listen or give him some other work to do. You may have thought the latter would have been much better, but it was still simple and boring work for Sherlock.

Sherlock had been writing to his old butler Jonathan every few weeks. He liked to use pen and paper rather than email. Email was so overrated. He had finally finished serving the Holmes household, but was still concerned about Sherlock's wellbeing and so wrote back. His health hadn't improved, but thankfully he was no worse.

Sherlock enjoyed reading his letters from the elderly gentleman. He rarely received anything from his parents but writing to him was much more entertaining. He liked his elegant writing, always in the same black ink pen.

He realised that he had hardly known Jonathan at all. He had never known about him serving in the war and receiving medals for bravery. He had never known about his wife, children and grandchildren, but he realised that's because he didn't want to know. He remembered working it out before, but seeing that the man was happy with his family had made him jealous and so he had tried to forget.

Sherlock wasn't jealous anymore. He had accepted that he didn't like his family and moved on. He didn't care that other people had loving families, he had himself and that was all he needed.

Sherlock was currently writing a reply to his friend when his dorm room door was unlocked.

"Ah, Tim. When are you moving out then?" he said without looking up from his letter. _Easy deduction._

"How did you...? Wait I don't want to know freak." he said as he got out his case from the wardrobe. "They finally gave me another room. I'll be glad to see the back of you."

"You're currently looking at my back Tim." he said, ignoring the phrase.

"Shut up freak."

He thought Tim could've been nice, he probably was nice, but unluckily enough for him, he had shared a room with him and had his mind poisoned the boy who had tormented him for the whole of his educational life.

Sherlock was half glad that Tim had befriended Anderson. It was much quieter than if he had become friends with Sherlock, he would have got angry at his constant ramblings. It seemed to irritate him enough in class as it is.

Tim quickly packed his things before leaving. Sherlock put down his pen and sighed contently. He pushed the other bed against the wall, giving him more floor space. The other bed had annoyed him as it took up most of the space in the room. Sherlock looked at the space. He wondered if he could fit an armchair in here...

He heard a knock at the door and frowned. It wasn't a bang, so it wasn't one of the bullies. It wasn't three quick taps so it wasn't a teacher.

It was 4 quick taps, a slight pause then 2 more.

_Morse code._

_'Hi'?_ It must have been someone in the older years, or at least someone clever, trying to be friendly.

Sherlock stood and walked over to the door. He opened it to find Greg Lestrade standing there with a small smile.

"Let me guess," Sherlock began. "You've come to tell me you're sorry that my roommate has gone and can't be replaced at the moment."

"Well yes Greg looked a bit dumbfounded.

"No need to be sorry. I want my own room. Much more peaceful." Sherlock began to close the door before adding "I bet you were dreading breaking the news to me. Typical of the teachers to put the burden of 'breaking a poor little boy's heart' on the head boy." he said sarcastically.

"You're going to be alright kid." said Lestrade with a chuckle.

"How's the uni hunt going?" asked Sherlock before he could stop himself. He and gotten so used to being polite to get what he wanted, he didn't know when to turn it off. He figured when he had finished the first year, he would get rid of that quality.

"Alright I suppose. I still don't really know where I'm going to go..."

"Try the London area. Scotland Yard like that."

"How did you-"

"How did I know? I would explain to you Lestrade but I really cannot be bothered. It's boring anyway. Have fun being a detective." he said as he slammed the door into the boy's face.

Sherlock walked over to the window and watched the early November snow begin to form a bright white layer on the ground. Sherlock sighed. He hated snow. He didn't understand why people liked it so much. It was just frozen water. Nothing special.

He remembered when he was in year 3 and there was a heavy snow storm. Everyone got really excited and ran outside once the storm had stopped to build snowmen or have a snowball fight. Of course Sherlock stayed inside in the comfort of the library, but when he left at the end of the school day, Anderson threw an ice ball at his head. He had received a large black eye.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked back to his desk and finished his letter to Jonathan, before putting on his coat and walking towards the reception, where he could mail his letter.

* * *

The snow had entertained the school for a few days before it became a nuisance. Luckily Sherlock hadn't received another ice ball to the head this snowfall but he knew Anderson would be planning one for him in the foreseeable future.

Sherlock watched from his window as various cars and other modes of transport arrived to take most of the students home. Sherlock smiled and thanked god he didn't have to return home this Christmas after his parents had sent him a letter to say they would be travelling over the holiday period.

He didn't like Christmas anymore. To him it was just a holiday.

Only a dozen students remained for the Christmas holiday, including Sherlock. He thought it would be nice and peaceful, along with many empty labs for him to do his experiments in.

Of course the students weren't left alone. A few teachers remained to each take shifts to look after the small group. He didn't know who they were as they had never taught him, but he could still get away with murder, blackmailing them into letting him do what he wanted or he would tell the whole school why they were really doing the Christmas shift.

Sherlock felt his phone vibrate. He looked at the caller ID and sighed.

"Since when did you do holiday calls?" Sherlock replied in an agitated tone.

"Since I will not see you brother." Mycroft's voice replied.

"Boring."

He heard him chuckle lightly on the end of the receiver. "Mummy said you need new school uniform already. Grown again?"

"No I set fire to my blazer." He heard his brother laugh. "What's so funny?"

"You never fail to amuse me brother."

"I wasn't trying to amuse you."

"Oh I know." Mycroft laughed. He had always presumed his brother had some kind of problem, probably autism, but his parents had never got him tested. They just thought he was smart and so was arrogant. Mycroft knew better, understanding that he just didn't understand human emotions as well as everyone else after he focused his priorities on school work rather than human interaction. He probably thought it was simpler.

"What do you want?" his brother's voice interrupted his thoughts.

"I wanted to see how my brother was doing. GCSEs in your first year? Big achievement I must say." he said mockingly.

"I haven't done them yet."

"Yes but you will."

"I know."

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"Finding it boring?"

"Yes."

"I thought so." Mycroft smiled. "Sorry brother dear, I must go. Much to do and-"

Sherlock hung up. He couldn't be bothered to listen to his brother anymore. He decided to go to bed early and actually sleep. He was going to need his energy during the holidays, more energy than a cup of tea would supply him with.

* * *

Sherlock was sat in a biology lab, looking at how stomata on a leaf react to light changes when he got frustrated.

"Why aren't you matching up?" he shouted. He stood up and began pacing. Pacing helped him focus. He didn't know why, it just did.

He stopped. "All my thoughts are just one big mixture of brilliance..." he said to himself. He sat and thought for a while, trying to figure out a way to sort out his thoughts.

"Mind map..." he said and began planning one in his head. "No... Too many thoughts... Too big..." he opened his eyes and looked at the walls. He saw posters of how the human body worked and sighed. They weren't going to help.

"Mind house..." he closed his eyes again. "No, not enough rooms... Mansion? Hotel? Palace!" he said with a small smile and began organising his thoughts.

He put his fingers on his temples and had a small frown on his face.

Occasionally he would move his hands away from his head and appear to be moving things around in front of him.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but by the time he opened his eyes, it was dark, very dark, must have been around midnight. He let out a deep breath and leant back in his chair. Now that he had sorted out all his thoughts, he could easily just delete things he didn't need and add things he did.

He put the microscope away and walked back to his dorm, smiling at the new 'Anderson Insults' room he had made.


	13. Cigarettes

**Cigarettes**

Sherlock looked at the piece of paper he was given in form time.

_Swimming contest._

He rolled his eyes. Swimming was boring. He closed his eyes and made a new room for swimming and why he found it so boring. He quickly fashioned a key in his mind and locked the door. He didn't need to know about that.

Luckily he didn't have to partake in the activity, but his whole year was to go watch as they had somehow managed to get to the championships in London. The school's opponent had yet to be decided but the two schools from Brighton and Newcastle were having a contest today to see who would join Marina boarding school in the finals.

Sherlock was finding his teacher very boring at this moment in time, congratulating Sally Donovan, a girl in his form group who especially despised him after he told her the real reason why she stayed at school for Christmas (_her father was blatantly having an affair_), on getting to the championships.

Sherlock decided to go, just so his dull routine would be broken.

Sherlock hated routines. They were so repetitive. He liked surprises and unexpected occurrences. They were much more exciting than knowing what is going to happen next, like double English.

The bell rang and Sherlock sighed. _English was boring._

* * *

Sherlock retreated back to his room with a small smirk. He could still see Miss Jenkins' expression in his mind after he had complained about how predictable the poem was and deduced the whole theme and 'story line' by only reading the first stanza. Mrs Jenkins had laughed at him at first but soon became rather angry, saying about how he had now ruined it for the rest of the class.

_"I was just saving you time Miss." he said bluntly. He was though. He knew people wouldn't want to read a whole book so he just told them the story anyway._

_"Saving time does not matter when you have the opportunity to read a good poem." she had replied with a frown._

_"Poems are boring." As much as Sherlock loved reading, he found that poems neglected facts. He hated knowing something was wrong with the words and so turned to books for his leisure. _

_"Well not everyone shares your opinion Mr Holmes." she said with a huff and turned back to the poem, reading it aloud. _

_"Freak..." he heard Anderson, Tim and Sally taunt him from his left. He rolled his eyes and stood up._

_"Where do you think you're going?" asked Miss Jenkins, the anger seeping into her tone._

_"To do something remotely interesting."_

_"My lessons are interesting if you cared to listen."_

_"And if you cared to listen to me Miss Jenkins, you would realise how bored I am. I will not stay in a pointless lesson where all you do is talk about how the curtains being blue show his depression and anxiety. No, he wrote that the curtains were blue because they were fucking blue." he grabbed his bag._

_"Go to the headmaster at once!" she shouted, her face turning red._

_"I'm sure Mr Crey would love my company. He sees me most days as it is..."_

_Sherlock waltzed out of the classroom, easily stepping over Anderson's stretched out foot, trying to trip him. _

Of course he didn't go and see Mr Crey, he just walked back to his dorm. He was just saving his time. Anyway it wasn't as if this little fiasco was going to affect his report, he could easily hack into the school system to change it to his parents' liking. If he kept his parents happy, they would leave him alone.

Sherlock unlocked his door and walked inside. He threw his bag on the chair he had recently placed in the new floor space and opened the wardrobe. He moved some of his belongings and opened the compartment he had made which, thankfully, had not yet been found during room inspections.

He took out the microscope he had acquired during the Christmas holidays and placed it on his desk. He pricked his finger and squeezed it. He dabbed it on a slide, letting the blood cover the centre of the glass. Sherlock sat at the microscope and looked in.

Blood was interesting. There were different parts to it and with it; you could tell what someone had been doing. You could find out what they had been doing recently by look at their hormones or find out what they had been eating by looking at the molecules in the blood plasma.

He observed the red blood cells. He picked up a pipette with a small amount of water and put a small drop on the blood sample. He watched as the red blood cells desperately sucked in the water and then, _POP._

He watched as osmosis occurred, sucking in the water and causing the cells to destroy themselves.

Eventually he got bored and threw the slide in the bins outside his window. His aim was surprisingly good, throwing the slide directly in the centre of the bin, even with the harsh winds of the January winter. He quickly put the microscope away and hid his compartment before deciding to go on a walk. He grabbed his coat and the scarf Jonathan had given him and left.

He walked out the dorm corridor's emergency exit. He allowed the wind to tug at his clothes and ruffle his hair before walking away from the building.

He walked across the field before arriving at the orchard, where the wind was not so harsh. He tightened the scarf around his neck and walked into the maze of trees.

He had been there many times before. It was not part of the school grounds and so was usually quite peaceful. He had seen a few dog walkers and such from the nearby village but never anyone else from his school; not this deep in the orchard anyway.

He leant against a nearby tree and looked up at the sky. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

He had been there quite a while before hearing the sound of a twig snapping. His eyes opened instantly as he saw a group of teenage boys, around the age of 16, walking vaguely in his direction. He sighed contently. It had been a while since he saw some new faces, faces that he didn't know anything about. It didn't take him long to deduce their life stories.

_Local, not rich enough to afford to attend the school. One of them was from a poor background, mother out of work, father abandoned them a long time ago, two little sisters much younger than himself, tries to help them, no job, only just scraping through his education. Next one, smoker, 'leader of the gang' so to speak, fake designer clothing, likes to think he has more money than he does, bitten nails, anxiety, he wants to impress but the pressure is getting to him, he pretends not to care for his girlfriend but actually cares about her deeply, even though the feeling isn't mutual, he is just one giant facade. One on the end, secretly gay, doesn't tell the others or they'll destroy him, inch by inch, nervous disposition, may have mild paranoia or PTSD, either one would be understandable after the murder of his father at the age of... 11? No older, 13, big sister, secret mummy's boy. Last one, richest of the group but still not wealthy, just average, boring, normal level of intelligence, has gained the trust if everyone in the group but would easily stab them in the back if they got in the way, little brother, smoker, two girlfriends, one knows the other doesn't._

Sherlock smiled slightly, until they begin to approach him.

"Hey there posh boy." said the leader of the group with a smirk. The others laughed.

Sherlock really couldn't be bothered with these simpletons and so made no reply.

"No response? You want me to make you squeal?"

"Is that how you get your kicks then? Apart from the smoking, of course."

Sherlock said and sniffed slightly. "And the drugs." he added, now able to make even clearer deductions about the boy.

He frowned "I dunno what you're talking about kid, but if you want to leave our turf without any broken bones, I advise you to stop talking."

"Can I have a smoke?" asked Sherlock, half surprising himself. He had always wanted to try smoking but his mouth had spoken the words before he could stop himself. He thought this was one of the worst times he could be thinking about trying smoking for the first time.

"What?"

"Can I have one of your cigarettes?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. He hated repeating himself. He had already began digging a hole but there was no point stopping now.

The group laughed slightly before the leader took out a pack of cigarettes and passed one to the boy. "I'd like to see you try. Do you even know what to do with it?" the group laughed again.

"Got a light?"

"Sure." his face was amused.

After putting the cigarette in his mouth, Sherlock took the lighter and carefully put his hand over the end of it, protecting the small flame from the wind, and lit the cigarette. He threw the lighter back to the group before taking a long drag on it. The teenagers looked at each other and smirked, expecting the boy to suddenly choke on the smoke.

Sherlock, however, did not. He closed his eyes and nodded before opening them again to see the reaction of the group in front of him. He let out a long breath, smoke covering them.

"Interesting..." he said before taking another drag.

"Like it?" the leader said, the amusement still lingering on his face.

Sherlock nodded. This

"You wanna buy some?"

_Dealer_.

Sherlock stopped himself from rolling his eyes. He did like the taste of the smoke though so agreed. "How much?"

"Fiver."

Sherlock reached into his pocket and brought out a five pound note. The teenager took the money out of his hands and threw him the pack of cigarettes. Sherlock caught them easily in his left hand before putting them in the pocket of his coat.

"Will I be able to get some more from you in the future?"

"Sure." he smirked. "The name's Andy, Andy Starkton."

Sherlock nodded. "Sherlock Holmes."

"We're usually here most days around this time. You ever need anything, come to us." he said before turning around and walking off.

Sherlock stood there for a few minutes longer, finishing the cigarette. He liked the taste of the tar and the smoke and how it consumed him. The nicotine gave him a slight buzz.

He stomped on the cigarette before turning back and beginning the long trek back to the school building.

He had just bought cigarettes off a drug dealer.

"You idiot." he said to himself as he walked under the tall trees. "Now you're going to get hooked."


	14. Carl Powers

Next chapter up! Enjoy!

Also massive thank you to all the reviews, alerts and favourites! I never expected such a huge response.

* * *

**Carl powers**

Carl Powers.

Drowned after having a fit in the water at a swimming contest.

Tragic accident.

_No._

This was no accident.

There was something more.

Sherlock read through the article again and again. There was something missing but he didn't know what.

He wanted to investigate further but his only problem was that he was currently in Summerset and the incident was in London.

He sat in his armchair, feet stretched out in front of him and his fingertips together on his chin. He tapped his foot on the ground impatiently, waiting for 11:30 to arrive. He was to actually attend the first year's assembly as the fate of what will happen on the day of the planned swimming contest will arise.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

_Why couldn't time move faster?_

He took out his phone and saw he had two missed calls from his brother. Sherlock had found that Mycroft always called rather than texted him, unless he was having certain dental problems.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his phone rang. He thought better than to ignore it. His brother wouldn't give up.

"Ah Mycroft, to what do I owe this pleasure?" he said dripping with sarcasm.

"Now now brother I was just wondering how you were."

"Stop lying and tell me why you really called." he stood up and began pacing.

He heard his brother sigh irritatedly. "Mummy called."

"What did she want this time?" he said in a bored tone.

"Apparently you've been skipping classes."

"I don't need to be in them. I learn nothing."

"Sherlock you must attend lessons. They are important."

"So mummy is still using you to fight her battles. Tut tut Mycroft."

"Sherlock, I'm just concerned."

"Since when have you been concerned about me? I can look after myself Mycroft, I've been doing it for years."

Sherlock hung up the phone and put it in his pocket. He always got the last word.

He looked at the time on his watch. 11:25. He decided to leave and get down to the hall, ready for assembly. He hoped it would be good news.

* * *

"As I'm sure you're all aware by now, one of our competitors lost one of their best swimmers." Mr Crey's voice said to the group of first years in front of him. "Carl Powers lost his life due to a tragic accident. Let us pay our respects with a minute's silence."

He put his head down in respect and held his hands in front of him. Many of the other students followed suit or closed their eyes.

Sherlock had to stop himself from sighing dramatically. Carl Powers wasn't going to know if they had stopped and wasted their time thinking about him. It wasn't as if people were being forced to feel sorry for the boy. Sherlock most certainly didn't. He was dead. Everyone dies at some point.

After a minute had passed, the headmaster looked up and stepped back towards the microphone. "Due to this unfortunate event, I am afraid the finals of the swimming contest have been postponed until further notice. On Friday, rather than following our original plan, we shall visit some of London's most famous landmarks."

Sherlock smiled. He didn't care about seeing the landmarks, he had seen them many times before as he lived there as a child, but he could easily escape the trip unnoticed to go and see the swimming pool.

* * *

"Natasha?"

"Yes Miss."

"Jacob?"

"Here Miss."

"Sherlock?"

"Yes..." he said. He was bored. The coach hadn't even started moving and he was already bored. He rolled his eyes as he saw Greg and Susan get on the coach. Susan took a seat at the front and Greg looked around, trying to find a seat for himself. His gaze met Sherlock's as he made his way to the only spare seat next to him.

"Hey Sherlock." he said before he sat down and took out his mobile.

"So short on teachers they took the head boy and girl out of lessons to run around after a bunch of first years? How typical..." Sherlock looked out the window.

"Yeah, but it's not all bad. I mean I'm missing double English so that's a bonus."

"She's cheating on you, you know." he said bluntly.

"Wha... What do you mean? Who?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Susan of course."

"Why would you say that?" Greg frowned.

"To keep it short for your simple mind, she's obviously been kissing someone else. You're both wearing aftershave."

"How do you know it's not my aftershave?"

"Why would you be wearing two types of aftershave?"

Greg frowned.

"Not to mention the fact she's texting someone, not you as you're texting a friend, and she's playing with her hair. Compliments. And why would she get giddy after a text from a friend? Also she didn't mind not sitting next to you. Someone in a relationship would be rather upset I would imagine. Simple really."

"Yeah... Simple..."

Sherlock turned his head again to see Greg, in a sad daze, looking at Susan. He turned back to the window as Greg slouched back in his seat.

"He's cheating on her too so it won't last anyway."

Sherlock took out his earphones and put them in. He turned up the volume and prepared himself for the dull journey.

* * *

Sherlock looked at his watch. He half-heartedly put his hand up when his name was called and gradually made his way to the back of the group. He would have half an hour, half an hour to break into the swimming pool, look at the evidence, make his deductions and leave. Lestrade was right; being a detective could be entertaining.

He entered the science museum and waited until the group separated to look around. Sherlock snuck towards the door when the teacher wasn't looking and quickly ran.

He knew London. All the streets and where they lead. Growing up here and having parents that didn't really care what you did with your free time was definitely an advantage. He darted round several corners. He looked at his watch. It would take him 5 minutes to get there, 10 minute all round journey; that would give him 20 minutes maximum at the scene.

He was much fitter than many people perceived. He slowed down as he approached the swimming pool. He saw police officers surrounding the area. He put on his leather gloves and walked to the back of the building. He rolled his eyes. No one there. He thought the police should have had at least one guard on every door.

He put his ear to the door to listen to see if anyone was on the other side. When he heard nothing, he opened the fire exit cautiously.

He walked around the pool slowly. Nothing. The water had destroyed any evidence. He quickened his lace as he made towards the lockers. If there was anything important, it would be in there.

Sherlock took out a hair slide he had found which had become very useful for lock picking. It took him a matter of seconds to open the locker and begin rummaging through the deceased's belongings.

_Clothes, towel, phone, bag, wallet... Shoes?_ Sherlock frowned. _Where were his shoes?_ He looked through the contents of the locker again to try and find out more about the boy.

_Dead, of course, age 12, not from a rich family, quite poor, suffered from eczema, medication in bag, quite popular, beats up other kids, Sherlock thought himself as a prime target for this type of character... but the shoes! _

They kept popping back into his mind. Something wasn't right about the missing shoes. Why would a boy with such few possessions separate his shoes from the rest of his belongings? It was clear he didn't care much for the other items of clothing.

"Hey! You! What on Earth do you think you're doing here?" he heard a man's voice shout.

_Damn,_ he had been caught. _So much for the gloves._

"I'm trying to find out how Carl Powers died." he said. No point in arguing.

"We have the situation under control son. I'm afraid he drowned after a tragic accident."

"Don't call me son." Sherlock glared at the man. "And why does everyone call it a tragic accident? This was no accident. No, a boy with no previous medical history apart from eczema having a fit in the water and drowning. There's more to it than that. Let me guess, nothing from the tests?"

"It's not my area but son-"

"Shh, I'm thinking." he began pacing. He looked at the officer. "No shoes. _Why_ were there no shoes? Removed to be given to the family after their loss? No all his other belongings would have been removed too and given to them. Good point, why haven't you emptied the locker? No one nearby to claim it? Yes and no. The parents could have easily come to London and received the things, but they don't want to visit the scene of their child's death-"

"Come on." the police officer said, grabbing Sherlock's arm.

"Hey I'm not done!"

"I don't care if you're done or not son, you cannot be here." he looked at the logo on Sherlock's blazer, still slightly visible under his coat.

"I've just given you the decisive leads to show this wasn't an accident and all you're-"

"All I'm going to do is call your school and tell them where you are. Breaking and entering is a serious offence young man, let alone breaking into a place guarded by police in the first place. You may get lucky and get away with a warning."

"This wasn't an accident!"

"I don't care what your opinion is son, one more word and I'll use these." he picked up his handcuffs.

"Stop calling me son!"

"Right that's it..." he slammed the metal onto his wrists. Sherlock sighed dramatically and allowed the officer to push him around. _Well this had failed._

* * *

"Sherlock you have taken it too far this time..." said Mr Fritz, his PE teacher. Sherlock didn't even know how the teacher knew his name. Probably half the staff's gossip was about him blowing up another classroom or walking out of a lesson dramatically. It wasn't his fault he got bored so easily.

Sherlock didn't say a word in response. He just put his hands in his pockets and walked towards the coach that was now just down the street from the swimming pool.

"I can hardly believe they only gave you a warning."

"Well they did so you can stop talking about it now sir." he said as he quickened his pace. He was almost as tall the the 5 foot 7 teacher and let his long legs carry him down the street.

Sherlock stormed onto the bus.

"Good going freak. Now we have to go back to school 3 hours early." shouted

Sally Donovan as she saw him walk down the isle of the coach.

"Cheating on your boyfriend with Anderson again? Really not a good idea

Donovan. We both know how angry Sean can get..." he paused for a second "On second thoughts, carry on." Sherlock replied with a smirk and sat down in his seat after Greg moved out the way. Greg smiled slightly.

"You're good for an 11 year old..." he said

"12." Sherlock replied bluntly before putting his earphones in again and turning on his music.


	15. Here Comes the Summer

Klaine4eva: glad you like it! Don't really know what music he would have been listening to... it was just something I wrote :L just imagine what you think Sherlock would listen to :) luckily for you this is a weekday daily update so you can keep reading :D yaay

This story is now going on a german Fanfiction website too :D big thank you to Klaine4eva for making this opportunity possible!

**Here comes the summer**

The school year ended rather quickly, too quickly for Sherlock's liking. He had taken his science, maths and English GCSEs and would get the results during the summer through the post. Sherlock already knew he had got all A*s anyway. They were child's play.

Summer meant returning home and facing his parents and Mycroft. He sighed. At least he was going to visit Jonathan for a week.

Sherlock had been quite frustrated at the police for not listening to him. He had told them valuable evidence they had just skipped over and they ignored him. It wasn't his fault he was young. If he was older they would have listened, or they may have arrested him. Nevertheless he found being young a great disadvantage for the first time in his life. He wasn't old enough to do anything.

Sherlock made his way deeper into the orchard. He saw Andy waiting with his gang.

"Alright Sherlock?" he said when the boy approached them.

"You wouldn't care either way." he said before handing over a wad of cash. Andy flicked through, counting the money.

"All here... There you go." he passed a bag of cigarette packs to Sherlock. He had decided to stock up for over the summer. He looked at the group in front of him.

"Simon came out then." Sherlock said as he took a cigarette out and lit it.

"How did you know?"

"I've got my ways." he took a drag of the cigarette.

"We soon got rid of that faggot."

Sherlock nodded. "Till September."

"Yeah."

Sherlock turned and began walking back to the school.

* * *

Sherlock repacked the last of his belongings, after Anderson had broken in and emptied his cases' contents. Sherlock felt his phone vibrate and took it out of his pocket.

_I'm picking you up. Car park, 5 minutes. - MH_

Sherlock sighed. "Great..."

He heard a knock at the door and turned his head slightly to see Greg Lestrade standing in his doorway.

"Hey Sherlock."

"Lestrade."

Greg stepped into the room hesitantly.

"Congratulations on getting into uni."

"Thanks. They have connections with Scotland Yard so I thought it would be a good place to go."

"Hm." Sherlock zipped up his case.

"I just wanted to say thanks."

"For what?"

"For telling me about Susan and stuff..."

"It's simple really."

Greg smiled. "For you, yes." he shifted awkwardly on the spot. "I want to keep in contact, if that's alright."

"Why would you want to keep in contact with me?" Sherlock asked with a frown.

"Well if I ever get anywhere as a detective, I want someone to fall back on if I'm not sure. The stuff you told me about Carl Powers, it was impressive."

Sherlock took out Greg's phone from his own jacket pocket and typed in his number. "Don't ask me about the boring stuff." he said as he put the phone in Greg's pocket. Sherlock picked up his cases and walked past him. "Laterz!" he called over his shoulder.

"Hang on, how did you get my phone?"

"You're quite easy to pick pocket Lestrade."

He laughed and shook his head "See you around Sherlock."

Sherlock walked down the stairs, dreading seeing his brother. As he approached the car park he saw Mycroft resting against a car with blacked out windows, holding an umbrella.

"I highly doubt rain brother." he said as he walked to the back of the car and dumped his belongings inside.

"Your voice is braking." Mycroft said with a mocking grin as he got into the back of the car. "Come Sherlock, I want to hear all about your school year."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stepped into the back of the car. Mycroft signalled for the driver to go and turned to his younger brother.

"You've grown."

"You haven't."

"There's no need for me to grow anymore."

"How's the diet? Not good? Thought not."

"Sherlock-"

"I told you before not to go on that diet, it will never give you the result you want."

Mycroft sighed. "Enjoyed school? Mummy said you stayed all year, disagreeing to come home for Easter."

"No."

"Then why did you stay?"

Sherlock gave no answer. He didn't want to sound vulnerable and say it was better than being at home. He had learnt that emotions made you weak long ago. He kept his emotionless mask on.

Mycroft coughed awkwardly. "Sherlock, about your visit to London. Why did-"

"Why did I run off?" Sherlock interrupted. "Because I wanted to investigate. Carl Powers death wasn't an accident. It was planned. Someone did it on purpose. I just wanted to know how."

"Is that what you want to be then? An investigator?"

"No. That's boring."

"Then what? A detective?"

"No, too many guidelines and paperwork. Boring." he thought about what Greg had said, 'I want someone to fall back on if I'm not sure'. He stopped the smile tugging on his lips. "No, I'm going to be a consulting detective."

"There's no such thing."

"I know. I made it up. Whenever the police get stuck, which is most of the time, they could come to me if need be."

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective."

"Got a problem with that?"

"Most people don't go to amateurs."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I'm not an amateur. They know nothing."

Mycroft let out a loud irritated sigh and looked out the window. There was no point arguing with his agitated brother.

They sat in silence for the rest of the journey.

* * *

Sherlock quickly got out the car and grabbed his bags. He walked in the front door.

"Father, mummy." he said with a nod of his head before walking swiftly up the stairs to his room. He didn't want to have the awkward chit chat he and Mycroft always had with them.

He opened his door and froze. He looked around the room, expecting the things he left behind to be safely where he left them. He frowned and opened his mouth slightly in disbelief. His room had been stripped bare, apart from a bed and a wardrobe. The things he hadn't brought with him, gone.

He dropped his cases and ran to his experiment room. His cheeks went red with anger. It had been changed into a bedroom. They already had 7 bedrooms in the house and only 2 were being used. Sherlock glared at the room and quickly turned around and head towards his parent's room.

His anger fuelled his following actions, but he did find it rather amusing afterwards. He walked to his father's bed side table and pulled out his gun. He checked to see if there were bullets. 10 bullets. He walked out the room with a fast pace and stormed back into what was his experiment room. He held up the gun and started firing at, what looked like, very expensive furniture. One in the bed. One in the wardrobe. One in the chest of drawers. A smile spread over his face as the TV smashed into a million pieces. One in the bookshelf. One in the expensive vase on the bedside table, sending water, china and flowers flying. He could hear screams coming from downstairs.

"What the fucking hell do you think you're doing?" his father bellowed as he entered the room.

"What the fucking hell have you done to _my_ rooms?" he shouted in return.

"How _dare_ you answer me back boy!" he took a step closer and Sherlock held up the gun.

"Don't think I wouldn't." he said through gritted teeth.

Mycroft appeared behind his father. "Sherlock what are you doing?"

"What do you think?"

"Father when did you change the room?"

"It wasn't being used. We needed another bedroom." the man said angrily.

"You have five other fucking bedrooms!" Sherlock shouted. "Why the hell would you need another one?"

"You can never have-"

His father was interrupted by another bullet, going through the window this time. They heard their mother scream from downstairs and Sherlock smirked.

"You fucking brat!" his father shouted and began walking towards Sherlock. He quickly moved the gun to his feet and pulled the trigger, missing his father by mere centimetres. He stopped in his tracks.

"Don't come any closer." said Sherlock calmly, playing with the gun in his hands.

"There's something wrong with you boy. What are you, some kind of psychopath?"

Sherlock frowned at him. "No, I'm a high functioning sociopath."

"Something's not right in your head." he said as he left the room.

Sherlock turned to his brother. "No point in trying brother. This has 2 bullets still." he held up the gun in the brace position.

"How do you know how to handle a gun?"

Sherlock laughed darkly. "There are many things you'll never know about me

brother." he pulled the trigger and shot the wall again.

His brother was obviously unaware that the school had started a shooting club, clay pigeons and stuff like that. Sherlock had attended once, only to be kicked out after using the instructor as a target. The instructor hadn't been harmed, but he sued the school anyway.

He placed the gun at his side and rummaged through the draw on the bedside table. He found a marker pen and drew a frowny face on the crème wall.

"Sherlock what are you-"

_**BANG.**_

The bullet shot the face right in the forehead.

"Goodbye father dear." he said and threw the gun on the floor. He stormed out the room and into his own.

Mycroft watched his brother go. Their parents had taken it too far this time. He knew his parents would be in a very bad mood and now that Sherlock was disarmed, would be after him. He picked up the discarded gun and returned it to his father's bed side table drawer.

* * *

There was a knock on his door. Sherlock gulped. He knew his parents would come and get him at some point.

"Come in." he managed to say confidently.

"Master Sherlock," a young new maid said to him. "Mr and Mrs Holmes have said they do not wish to dine with you and therefore you shall go without dinner tonight."

"Whatever." he said and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "Would you like me to bring you anything?" she asked in a whisper.

"I'm not hungry." he said, still looking at the ceiling.

"Okay sir. Just call if you need anything..." she said as she walked towards the door.

"Don't try and befriend me. You'll just get fired."

The maid stood there awkwardly before she left the room, leaving Sherlock in peace. That was the first time a member of staff was willing to defy his parents for his benefit. He smirked. Not even Jonathan would go against their word.

_This was...different..._

* * *

Hit after hit after hit. He had never been beaten this hard before in his life. It was also the first time his mother had stayed and watched. He felt the bruising form on the side of his face. His lip had swollen and his arm had a searing pain through it. His father spat in his face.

"Go to your room _NOW_!" he shouted.

Sherlock stood and hurried up the stairs. He ignored the pain in his left leg and ran into his room. He didn't cry. He never cried. Pain didn't cause an emotional response in him anymore.

He assessed the damage and sighed. His door opened and the kind maid from earlier walked in carrying a first aid kit.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting fired." she said and took a seat next to him on the bed. She began dabbing at the cut on his lip with an antiseptic.

"How do you know what to do?" Sherlock asked before deducing her quickly. "Oh... You were studying to be a doctor and dropped out of uni. Couldn't pay the funds." he nodded.

"Unfortunately so..." she said sadly "Lucky for you though. I haven't seen parents beat their child before, not ever. It's terrible."

"Hm."

"Are you okay master Sherlock? I mean don't you feel sad or angry or something?"

"Emotions are a weakness, a weakness I can't afford to have."

She smiled at him sympathetically, obviously thinking he was just putting on a brave facade. She was wrong. She looked down to his arm. She pulled up his sleeve gently but he winced slightly at the sudden pain.

She tutted. "I'm afraid it's fractured..." she took out a bandage and wrapped it round his wrist. "When are you going?"

"2 weeks..." he frowned slightly before his eyebrows rose "Ah, you're

Jonathan's oldest granddaughter... Lucy right?"

"Yeah." she smiled timidly. "I'm going to see him next week. He's got worse..."

"You were close."

She nodded. "He saw me every Sunday after church. He was brilliant..."

"He still is." Sherlock looked away from the young woman awkwardly. He felt weird talking about emotions and family. It was such a normal thing to do but it wasn't normal for Sherlock.

"Of course." she stood after sorting out his injurers. She stood slowly. "If you find anything hurts, come and find me..." she opened the door.

"Thank you." Sherlock said. He felt funny. He felt... Accepted?

"No problem master Sherlock. You just be careful now." she closed the door and walked away.

He smiled slightly. Sherlock hadn't had someone care about him in years. But care lead to neglect and hurt.

* * *

This was a fun one to write :) i just felt like the story needed a bit of drama :P hope you liked it!


	16. An Old Friend

**An Old Friend**

Lucy was fired the next day. Sherlock felt guilty. Lucy was fine with it and gave the master of the house a piece of her mind, shouting for the world to hear about how heartless they were. She had left Sherlock a phone number so he could call her if he had any problems with his arm. He decided he wouldn't call her but would probably end up seeing her when he visited Jonathan.

Sherlock had managed to create a lock on his door, with not too much difficulty. For once Sherlock thought that design technology wasn't such a useless subject. Well, it was when all you make is wooden boxes, which are cut out for you and all you do is stick it together.

He heard a knock on his door.

"Why did you come back Mycroft?" he shouted at the door.

Mycroft went to open the door, only to find it was locked. "I was only away a day Sherlock... Why have you got a lock on your door?"

"For privacy. I thought that would be obvious brother."

"Can I come in?"

"No." Sherlock turned the page in his brother's old textbook.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"So you don't want your GCSE results then?"

The door opened suddenly and Sherlock snatched the envelope out of his brother's hand. He ripped it open and pulled out the paper, ignoring the fact his brother had walked into the room. He quickly read the paper and put it on is desk. He picked up his violin and began to play.

"How did you do?" asked Mycroft, walking towards the paper. "Failed them all?" he smirked.

"All A*s." Sherlock replied bluntly. He continued playing the violin and looked out the window.

"Well done Sherlock." he said mockingly.

"I know you don't care brother. Now leave my room."

"You almost sound disappointed." Mycroft smirked.

Sherlock made no reply; just moved the bow across the strings harshly, causing a horrid screeching noise. Mycroft sighed dramatically and walked out of his room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Sherlock took a seat in the car and told the driver the address. He knew his parents wouldn't say goodbye but he didn't care. He was glad to go to Jonathan's home. It sounded like a nice enough place. Sherlock watched as they left the bustling city for the countryside. He opened the window and took a deep breath. The air was clean like at his school. The fumes in London had really started to take its toll on his health.

They approached a small cottage. It was surrounded in flowers, well kept, cared about, obviously older people live there, lived there for a long time, at least 30 years, quite well off family, both out of work and on pensions now but had successful careers, Jonathan had been paid well by the Holmes family but his wife still worked, family home which had 2 daughters, grown up now, 5 grandchildren, 4 great grandchildren, no older than 7.

Sherlock got out the car and took his bag out the back.

"You must be Sherlock." an old lady said as she approached him.

"Yes. Angela isn't it?" he already knew it was, but he was just being polite.

"Yes dear. Come in, come in." she said and waved her hand towards the door.

Sherlock followed her inside and didn't look back when the driver left. He didn't need to be reminded to where he was returning. They walked into the lounge where Jonathan was sitting.

"Ah Sherlock! Glad you could make it!" the frail old man said.

Sherlock frowned. "You've gotten worse. Why didn't you tell me?"

The elderly man smiled. "I didn't want you to worry my boy."

Sherlock took a seat opposite the man.

"How did your GCSEs go?" he said with a slight cough.

Sherlock rubbed his hair and looked to the side. "All A*s."

"That's brilliant!"

"I suppose."

"What's wrong?"

"They're just letters on paper. They don't mean anything."

"You'd be surprised." he smiled. "Letters get you far in life."

Sherlock smiled back politely. They turned as they saw Lucy enter the room.

"Sherlock!" she said with a smile and came and sat down next to him. "How's the arm doing? You never called so I'm hoping it's getting better..." she pulled up his sleeve.

"It's fine." he said and pulled his arm away.

"Are you sure?" she asked with a concerned frown.

"Yes."

"What happened to your arm?" asked Jonathan with a look of confusion and concern.

"Nothing..." Sherlock said and stood. Jonathan nodded. Sherlock knew he knew about his parents but there was no way he wanted to discuss it. "Where's my room?" he asked as he picked up his bag.

"Up the stairs, first door on the right."

"Thank you." Sherlock said before walking up the stairs. He heard the faint sound of Lucy and Jonathan talking, concern in their voices. They were talking about him.

He opened the door to his room and looked around. It was quite pleasant, having an oak bed with matching wardrobe and chest of drawers. He laid down on the bed and closed his eyes.

_Why did people care?_ He wasn't their responsibility and he didn't want to be. He opened his eyes and glared at the ceiling. How his body and thoughts reacted to the world wasn't anyone's business.

He swung his long legs over the edge of the bed and opened his bag. He took out one of the many test tubes he had brought with him for experiments. There was no way he was leaving without bringing something interesting to do so he brought half of his science kit. He held up the test tube and hit it on the desk, hard enough to break, soft enough for it to not shatter into a million pieces.

He looked at the sharp edge of the glass and held it up to his wrist. He made a quick clean cut and watched as some of the blood trickled down his forearm. He didn't flinch or react as he did it again. He didn't feel anything. No pain. No nothing.

Just _empty_.

He cleared up the glass and put it in a bin, after cleaning it first to hide the blood. Blood would lead to questions, questions he really could be bothered to answer. Sherlock covered his cuts with his sleeve after they stopped bleeding and took out a cigarette and his lighter. He put them in his pocket and made his way downstairs. He was greeted by the smell of home cooking. A rare scent. They lacked freshly cooked meals at school and at his house, he was never near enough to the kitchen to smell it. But no, here it flooded the house, delighting his senses. He walked towards the door but was stopped by Angela.

"You off somewhere dear?"

"Just going for a walk. Get some fresh air." he replied impatiently. He had needed a cigarette for a while and needed it now.

"Well make sure you take a coat or something. Apparently it is going to rain." she said with a smile and walked into her kitchen.

Sherlock ignored her advice and walked out into the country air. He looked back at the cottage before walking across a field. He came across a small group of trees and stood under them as he saw water begin to fall from the sky. He took out the cigarette and put it in his mouth. He carefully lit it and put his lighter away, keeping his hand in his pocket. He leaned against a nearby tree and gave a sigh of relief. He held the smoke in for a while before exhaling. It was difficult to get away at home to have a smoke, especially when Mycroft was around, watching his every move.

Sherlock was fed up of everyone treating him like a child. He was going to be 13 in November but he wished he was much older. He knew he had knowledge beyond his years and it irritated him. It also meant that this who didn't know him thought he was an obnoxious brat, and no one really knew him at all.

_Stalker. _

_Freak. _

_Weirdo. _

That's all he was ever called at school. It was rare to hear 'Sherlock' nowadays. Only his brother and the staff called him by his real name; his parents even only called him boy.

Sherlock took a long drag on the cigarette. The rain had begun to get quite heavy now. Maybe he should've brought a coat... Oh well. He stamped out the stub and began his trek back to the cottage. After leaving the cover of the tree, his hair and clothes were immediately drenched and clung to his body. His curls kept falling into his eyes and he batted them away with an irritated sigh. He was so bored.

As he approached the house he saw Angela through the window, who immediately ran to the door with an umbrella. She held it up for Sherlock for the last few yards to the house, not really make that much of a difference to his current state.

"I warned you dear..." she said as she put the umbrella away and walked into the lounge where her husband was situated. She was smiling though so she didn't mind

Sherlock quickly walked up the stairs and changed into some dry clothes and squeezed out some of the water in his hair before returning downstairs to join the family.

"Ah Sherlock!" Jonathan said with a smile as he entered the lounge.

"Jonathan." Sherlock said politely before sitting in the armchair opposite him.

"I'll go make some tea." Angela said and rose from her seated position and walked to the kitchen.

Sherlock turned back to the old man. He had developed a small, concerned frown. "Sherlock, what happened to your wrist?"

"Cut it." Sherlock said bluntly before pulling down his sleeve to cover it up. He stopped himself from smacking himself in the face._ Covering it, obvious body language suggesting self-consciousness about it, not wanting to answer more questions, arising suspicion._

"Come here." he said warmly and beckoned Sherlock forward. He stood slowly and hesitantly walked over to him. "Sherlock, you get enough pain inflicted on you at home, you do not need to do it to yourself."

"It was an experiment."

"Sherlock-"

"I felt nothing. No pain."

"I'm sure that's not true. It must have hurt-"

"It's a cut. It will heal. End of discussion."

"Sherlock how do I know you won't do it again?"

"How does it concern you?" he said coldly.

The older man made no reply. Sherlock regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He wanted to apologise but he couldn't. He didn't know why, he just physically couldn't say 'sorry'. He turned around and walked upstairs sadly.

Why did he always ruin everything?

He took the glass out of the empty bin and began slicing at his wrist again and again and again.

This time it was different.

This time he felt something.

This time he felt..._satisfaction_.


	17. Returning

**Thanks for all the reviews ITrustThyLove! It's nice to get reviews about my older chapters rather than just the newer ones :)**

* * *

**Returning**

Sherlock returned 'home' after his visit. He felt uncomfortable around Jonathan and his family. There was too much care and affection. He was used to cold and darkness. He preferred it that way. Friends don't help. Friends stab you in the back.

Sherlock packed the last of his things before closing his case. He was to return to Marina boarding school tomorrow and couldn't wait to leave. He was packing lighter this year after leaving some of his belongings in an old store cupboard no one used or really knew about, making it easier for him this year.

He half hoped to be completely rejected by his roommate again this year so he could get his own room after his mother and father denied him of the luxury. He turned to his wardrobe and looked at the school uniform he was to wear tomorrow. The blue blazer was neatly ironed along with his long black trousers and white blouse. His brother had taken him to buy a new set after he had almost instantly grown out of his own. That was a rubbish day, purely for the fact he had to spend the day with Mycroft.

He slumped back onto his bed as his attempt to get to sleep. He noticed he slept more the in the summer, probably because he was around his family and wanted to see them a little as possible. He closed his eyes.

"This is going to be a long year..." he said to himself before drifting off to sleep.

* * *

"Mycroft, for the last time, you are _not_ taking me to school!" Sherlock said angrily as he almost threw his suitcase in the boot.

"Sherlock there is no arguing this point."

"Shouldn't you be on your way to university?"

"No."

"Mummy and father can't have allowed it."

"Oh brother they insured it."

Sherlock sighed angrily and got into the car, slamming the door behind him.

Mycroft followed suit much more gently. Sherlock glared out the window.

"Sherlock?"

No reply.

"Sherlock."

Still no reply. The car began to move.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock slowly turned to his brother, the dark glare still on his face. "What? What have you possibly left to say to me brother? I've spent the whole summer in that god forsaken house and now I have to spend even more of my time with you! This school is my _only_ escape from this family! I don't care that no one likes me there! I don't care that I get shoved in the corridor and get called a freak! At least I get time to myself and a chance to do what I want!"

Mycroft's expression relaxed a little. "You get bullied there?"

No reply again.

"I could always move you somewhere else-"

"No." Sherlock said sharply at the window.

Mycroft nodded and looked out the other window.

They spent the rest of the journey in silence.

* * *

They stopped at the school building and Mycroft got out the car. Sherlock stayed in the car and looked out the window at the building he had missed so much. He watched students saying goodbye to their parents more confidently this time. He saw Anderson and Tim enter the building and decided to wait. He didn't want to face them this morning.

"Any day soon Sherlock." Mycroft said impatiently.

Sherlock opened the door and got out of the car. He went to the boot where his brother was leaning against the car, holding his stupid umbrella. Sherlock rolled his eyes and took out his case.

"I made sure you had your own room this year." Mycroft said, not making eye contact.

"Stop pretending you care about me Mycroft." Sherlock said before walking towards the school. "See ya!" he called over his shoulder.

He entered the building, noticing Anderson and Tim walking towards the corridor. Luckily they didn't see him enter, but plenty of others did. The whole room became much quieter as he walked towards the end of the line.

"Freak!" he heard a girl's voice shout.

"Anderson has a girlfriend Sally. I'd advise you not to make him cheat on her while she's at summer camp."

The room was almost silent. "How did you-"

"The fact you arrived in the same car when you both live on the opposite sides of London kinda gives it away. Also the fact you're wearing his deodorant and the faint line of your lipgloss on his collar. Elementary mistake."

She shut up after that, running out of the room in embarrassment.

"You're such a stalker!" another girl shouted before running after Sally.

He smirked slightly and waited patiently in line for his room. Nothing had changed then.

The first year in front of him kept on turning slightly towards him every now and again, a worried expression on his face. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

He reached the desk and collected his key. He made his way towards the dorms, his suitcase rolling behind him. He climbed the flight of stairs to the third floor and opened room 7. He walked in and found his brother had given him his own room. There was only one bed, one wardrobe, one chest of drawers and one bed. The room was slightly smaller than last year but it was his own and that was the way he liked it.

He got out his phone from his pocket and sent a quick text.

Usual place, 3 packs. - SH

He opened his case and quickly took out some money, his lighter and one of his last cigarettes. Sherlock left his room and walked down the stairs, hands in pockets. Before reaching the exit, he put the cigarette in his mouth and opened the door.

"Oi fag! Where you going?" he heard Anderson shout. _Fag? That was a new one._

Sherlock turned and took the cigarette out of his mouth. "Where do you think?"

"You don't smoke." he said bluntly. "Fags don't smoke."

"Just watch me." he said before turning and exiting through the door. He took out his lighter and lit the cigarette in his mouth. He took a long drag as he heard the door open behind him.

"You're lying!" he heard Anderson shout.

Sherlock turned and blew the smoke out of his mouth.

"You trying to be cool freak? You'll never be cool. You're a fag!"

"Fag? Why fag? I'm not gay." he said, taking a deep breath and letting out the smoke in Anderson's face. He wasn't gay; he just didn't see girls in that way. He and considered the possibility of being gay before but found that he wasn't attracted to girls or boys. Most of them were a bunch of idiots anyway.

"Yes you are. You don't like girls! Some of them are well hot and you turn a blind eye!"

"You have a girlfriend Anderson."

"And what?"

"Is she worth the risk?"

"I don't know what you mean."

Sherlock smirked and walked towards the orchard. Anderson didn't follow. He knew he had worried him.

He finished his cigarette and waited for Andy.

"Good summer?" he heard a voice call.

"You wouldn't care anyway." he said, turning to his dealer.

"Of course I would care about my best customer." he said mockingly.

"You got them?"

"Yeah..." he passed him the packs. "You got the cash?"

Sherlock passed him the money and walked away. He didn't want to have small talk with him.

He put his hands deep into his pockets. There was a chill in the air and he hadn't bought his scarf or coat and so if it started raining, he was in the deep end.

Luckily for him, the sky remained grey and didn't pour down on him. Sherlock entered the school building and accidentally bumped into a girl from the first year. She quickly said a shy 'sorry' and continued walking. Sherlock looked at her and smiled slightly. Yet another new life for him to deduce.


	18. The New Girl

Right the next few chapters are a bit of drama! Hope you like it :)

Also, I would like your feedback on an idea of mine to write a doctor who and Sherlock crossover fic about Sherlock trying to find the doctor. It's just an idea that popped into my head and i don't really know where I'll be going with it. Tell me if you think it's a good idea and it'll be my next project after this fic :)

**The new girl**

Sherlock sat down in his seat near the front of the lab. He was early, as usual, not because he enjoyed the lesson, but because he was bored. He observed his classmates enter the biology lesson and shook his head as they looked at him and whispered. He looked out the window and watched the February snow fall and settle.

Mrs May soon entered the room, carrying a pile of books for marking.

_Watching a video today then..._ he thought to himself.

"Settle down!" she called over the noise. The class eventually obliged and faced the front. "Today we will be watching a video about... Sherlock put your phone away!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and put it in his blazer pocket. He hated watching videos. It was just teachers being lazy.

There was a timid knock on the door and the whole class turned and watched as a girl entered the room.

"Is this 8C?" she asked shyly, adjusting her bag strap.

"Yes." said Mrs May with a small smile. "Madison Webb?"

"Yeah..." she said. Sherlock could see the fear in her eyes. _First day._

"Take a seat." the teacher said warmly before continuing what she was saying.

The girl took a seat next to Sherlock.

"You don't want to sit there." he said bluntly, getting out is phone again.

"Sorry, does someone sit here?" she asked uncomfortably.

"No. No one sits there. That's the point. Sit next to me by choice and you won't have a social life."

"I won't have much of one anyway so..."

"If you want one, move." he was starting to get irritated.

She didn't reply, just stayed where she was and took out her pencil case. She looked at the front. He glanced at her, a little surprised at her persistence. Sherlock sighed and put his phone away before listening to what Mrs May was saying.

"The video will be about surgery." she said. "There_ will_ be scenes of surgery taking place so you have been warned."

Sherlock heard a small gasp from the girl sitting next to him. He ignored it and began watching the video.

It was _boring._

He took out his phone and turned the brightness of the screen right down to prevent it from lighting up his pale face.

He looked up at the girl next to him who kept shifting uncomfortably and decided to deduce her to prevent further boredom.

_Tan lines, recently moved back to England from spending 1, no, 2 years abroad where her father was working, probably Spain. Mother died at young age, gave her a small locket she is currently wearing, engraved with the initials 'PW', most likely her mother's initials. Younger violent brother, small bruising on her left forearm. Bitten nails, anxious, nervous, new school, new people, she doesn't know where to start, bullied at her old school, most likely due to her lack of social life, she doesn't have many friends, none here, slight frown lines from concentration, studies hard as she has nothing better to do..._

He frowned slightly as she suddenly fainted. He looked at the screen where it was clearly showing open heart surgery. Mrs May stopped the video and ran over to the girl worriedly.

"What happened?" she asked Sherlock.

"She fainted. I thought that was pretty obvious."

Mrs May scowled at the boy but averted her eyes back to the girl. The whole class was watching by now.

Madison's eyes opened slowly. Sherlock watched as they darted around the room, looking at all the eyes on her.

"It's alright." said the teacher worriedly, pulling her up into a seated position. "Can you stand up?"

Madison nodded and stood up slowly. Sherlock had never seen someone look so weak. It was disturbing in his eyes.

"Sherlock, take her to the nurse." Mrs May said suddenly.

"What?" Sherlock blurted out.

"There's no point in arguing, take her now." she said, passing the girl to him. She looked a bit startled.

Sherlock looked at the short girl, now resting on his arm. A few sniggers came from the rest of the class.

"Sherlock, go now! And take her stuff with you!" the woman dumped her bag on his shoulder and opened the door for them to leave. Mrs May had never like him...

With a dramatic sigh he picked up his own bag and walked towards the door, dragging the girl behind his long strides.

"Slowly Sherlock! She's just fainted!"

"I know. I was the one who told you that." he said bluntly and slowed his pace a little so she could keep up. They left the room before the woman could say anything else.

The girl put her head in her hands. Sherlock frowned.

"What are you doing?" he asked as she leant against the wall.

"First day, first lesson and I'm already going to be labelled 'the girl who fainted'." she sighed.

"It wasn't your fault, well not fully."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she said as he stepped closer and pushed her shoulders, forcing her forward.

They began walking down the corridor.

"You fainted at the blood. It was triggered after your brain automatically connected it with a past experience which involved blood which caused you to have a bad experience before. I'm guessing you had some kind of seizure when watching a film. You subconsciously connected these events and you fainted."

"Wow." a small smile pulled at her lips. "I've been to loads of doctors trying to figure out why it happened."

"It's simple really. You just went to the wrong doctors." he said, leading her down another corridor. She laughed slightly before they walked a short distance in silence.

"Thanks." She almost whispered.

Sherlock's pace slowed a little before returning to his long strides. No one had ever thanked him before and he didn't really know how to react.

"You're welcome..." he said in reply. That's what other people say so he followed suit.

They turned a corner and were finally stood outside the nurse's office. Sherlock knocked twice before opening the door and leading Madison inside.

"Mr Holmes, how can I help you?" the chubby nurse asked.

"She fainted." he stated bluntly before dumping her bag on the chair next to him and walking out of the room. It wasn't that he was impatient, just he couldn't be bothered to wait and explain the situation. He closed the door behind him and strode towards the dorms. Mrs May would think that he would be talking to the nurse and so would be a while.

He took out his key and opened the door. He dumped his bag on the chair. He picked up violin and began playing. He closed his eyes and let the music overwhelm him.

* * *

Kick after kick after kick.

Sherlock lay on the concrete, holding his stomach and head. Tony spat on him.

"Fucking fag." he said before walking away with the group that had just beaten him up. Thanks to Anderson's new nickname for him, Tony and his gang had decided to beat him up. It wasn't the first time it had happened this year, but this was by far the worst time it had occurred.

Sherlock removed his hand from his head. He saw the blood.

Everything hurt.

He hadn't been beaten like that in years, not even by his father.

He rolled onto his back, regretting it instantly. The pain in his chest worsened, especially when he coughed. He spat out the blood in his mouth and closed his eyes.

He heard footsteps coming towards him. Definitely a girl's...

"Sherlock?" he recognised the voice instantly.

_Madison._

He opened his eyes a crack and looked at the girl who was now crouched next to him, horror spread across her face.

"Who did this to you?" she asked, her voice shaking a little.

"Who do you think?" Sherlock croaked. He coughed slightly and the pain in his chest worsened again.

"Oh shit..." she said as looked over his body "Sherlock you're really hurt."

_Well done_ he thought sarcastically.

"Can you get up? Wait, no, don't move. I'll go get help..."

"No..."

"Sherlock, don't argue with me." she said confidently.

His voice was coming back to him now. "I told you to not try and become my friend."

"I'm not trying to be your friend, I'm trying to help."

"I don't need help."

She smiled slightly "I'd like to see you try without it..."

Sherlock found himself smiling back at her. He quickly removed it from his face and put on his emotionless mask. He sat up slowly, ignoring the pain.

"Sherlock-"

"I'm fine." he said and stood.

Madison looked up at him and saw the pain in his eyes. He stumbled slightly as he began walking and she instantly grabbed him before he fell. He gave in and rested his arm on her shoulder as she helped him towards the building.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"Just returning the favour." she said timidly and opened the door in front of them. People turned and looked at them, whispering to each other.

"It's not too late to walk away with your dignity still intact." Sherlock said as he half limped by her side.

"My dignity doesn't matter." she said with the most confidence he'd ever heard the short brunette girl say. "Come on."

She allowed him to rest more of his weight on her. They walked down a long corridor to the nurse's office.

"Seems to be a regular pit stop here for us." Madison joked.

Sherlock allowed himself to smile before they entered.

"Oh my gosh!" the nurse stood and walked over to them. "What happened?"

"Tony Stevenson and his gang." Madison said for him. He wondered where this new found confidence had come from. Then he realised.

"When are you leaving?" he asked. She turned to him half shocked.

"Sherlock, don't worry about that for now." the nurse said. "I'm calling an ambulance..."

"What? No!" Sherlock shouted, an irritated frown covering his features. "They won't help."

"Mr Holmes they will."

"Well I'm only going if she comes with me." he said without thinking. Madison looked at him confused and he gave her the same expression back. "I don't know why I said that..."

Madison laughed lightly. "I was going to go whether you wanted me to or not."

Sherlock lifted the corner of his mouth and shifted on his feet.

"The ambulance is on its way..." the nurse said before getting out a wheelchair.

"No no no. There is no way I'm sitting in that." Sherlock said with a look of disgust on his face.

"Mr Holmes, you can hardly walk."

"I walked from the other side of the building. I think I can walk to the short distance to the reception." he shoved the door open and walked out. He instantly regretted it. Pain shot through his body but Madison was quickly under his arm for support.

He gave a small nod before they walked to the reception.


	19. Doctor Doctor

Not my best chapter ever this one really but i needed to get some things straight for the next one. Also having some technological problems so updates may not occur on a day to day basis. Hope you like it anyway :)

**Doctor Doctor**

The doctor finally left his hospital room and Sherlock sighed. Nothing was even hurting him anymore, not even the broken ribs. Sherlock opened his eyes as he heard footsteps.

"Hello Madison." he said.

"Tea?" she asked, passing him a polystyrene cup. "It was black two sugars, right?"

"Yeah." he said and took the cup. He never said thank you. Not to anyone. On most occasions it was because they weren't worth his time and effort.

They sat awkwardly for a few minutes, sipping on their tea.

"So when are you leaving?" Sherlock finally broke the silence.

"How did you... Forget it. Next Friday." she said and took another sip.

"You're father's job is making you move again."

"Yeah."

"Hm." Sherlock looked around the dull room before making eye contact again.

"Lucky you."

"I suppose..."

They turned to the door as Mycroft entered.

"Got yourself a girlfriend Sherlock?" he said mockingly.

"No, we're not-" Madison began.

"What do you want Mycroft?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Well mummy told me my baby brother was in hospital, I thought I should come visit."

"I'm fine. Bye." he said with a wave of his hand. He took a sip if his tea.

"I don't think so." he turned to the girl. "So what's your name?"

"Madison Webb." her shy persona had returned.

"And how long have you been dating my brother?"

"We're not dating..."

"I thought as much. My brother lacks social skills. I'm surprised you're even here. Sherlock doesn't _do_ friends."

"I'm not his friend, I'm just returning a favour." she put the cup to her lips and looked away.

"Hm." Mycroft switched putting his weight on his right foot to his left.

"Mycroft why are you still here?"

"Because I care."

Sherlock scoffed.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Brother you need to grow up."

"Maybe I don't want to."

"Sherlock-"

"Mycroft." Sherlock copied his tone mockingly. Madison giggled slightly.

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock you need to be able to defend yourself."

"You never did." Sherlock looked his brother up and down once before a mocking smile appeared on his lips. "How's the diet going?"

"Fine." his jaw clenched slightly. "And that's because I didn't need to."

"Because of your '_contacts_'" said Sherlock, putting emphasis on the last word. He swirled the remaining tea in his cup.

Mycroft switched his umbrella to his left hand. Sherlock was making him feel uncomfortable. _Brilliant_.

"Oh brother, I've told you many times, it's the people you know who get you places."

"How's your plan for ruling the world going?"

"Sherlock." he said in a warning tone.

"Not good? Oh well. The planet isn't missing much..." he stared into his tea intently as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

Madison watched the brothers argue and found it rather amusing. No matter what Mycroft said, his brother had some kind of comeback and knew exactly how to press his button. Still, that didn't mean Mycroft was going to give up any time soon.

"I see you're recovering well then." Mycroft said finally.

"I told you that when you came in."

"You said you were fine."

"Same difference."

"Well then I better be going-"

"Bye." Sherlock said bluntly and waved towards the door. The sooner his brother left the better.

Mycroft shifted his weight from one leg to the other again before leaving the room.

Sherlock turned back to Madison, who was now sitting uncomfortably in the chair, her chin resting on her knees.

"That's Mycroft in a nutshell." he said as he put down the cup on the bedside table.

"Hm." she replied with a small nod.

Madison stood and picked up his cup and threw them both in the bin.

"Lucky you." she said.

He frowned slightly at her and cocked his head to the side.

"You don't have to participate in sports day."

Sherlock smiled slightly. He hated sports day. It was pointless. Every spring the whole school was forced to participate in some kind of activity and compete. Last year he was able to get out of it, only because he was very good at playing sick.

He had developed very good acting skills over the years to get what he wanted. It worked every time, unless he was trying to fool someone who knew him already. The nurse didn't know him well last year and so wrote a note, saving him the hassle. He was still forced to sit out there and watch though but he wasted time on his phone and planning experiments in his head.

Sports day was next Monday and Sherlock had been forced to do the 300m sprint. Not anymore...

"So why are you leaving?" Sherlock asked. He already knew it was because of her father having to move again for business but he saw her flinch slightly at the question.

"Daddy said we have to move again. Business stuff..." she said, not making eye contact.

"Oh..." Sherlock said, the sudden realisation hitting him. "Daddy mixed with the wrong people."

Madison sat bolt upright. "How do you know about that? You _can't_ know about that!" he heard the panic in her voice.

"Business in drug dealing. He's the centre of a criminal organisation. Right?" Sherlock was just guessing, but he was definitely guessing correctly.

"Sherlock you can't!" tears were forming in her eyes.

"But daddy didn't make a deal. Daddy got in trouble. Daddy's little girl is in danger..." Sherlock looked at Madison. She was shaking slightly. "So you're moving for your protection... Hm."

The deduction was interrupted by the doctor entering the room. Madison quickly wiped away her tears and looked as normal as she could.

"Ah doctor doctor!" said Sherlock mockingly. "When can I leave this godforsaken place?" he said and looked at the ceiling, waving his arms around for emphasis.

"Mr Holmes, I'm afraid we're going to have to keep you in overnight." He said as he picked up the chart at the end of his bed.

"Why? I'm fine." he said impatiently.

"We just need to make sure you're recovering fully and properly before we release you."

Sherlock groaned and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "What do you mean release? I'm not some injured animal about to return to the wild."

"If you say so Mr Holmes."

Sherlock glared at him.

The doctor scribbled something down on the charts and replaced it at the end of the bed and soon left afterwards. He cocked his head to the side so see Madison with her arms folded, staring at him.

"I'm trusting you not to tell anyone." she said in a stern voice.

"You really think you should trust me?" he said with a smirk.

"Sherlock I'm serious. If someone finds out he could go to prison or worse, get killed."

"You're not worrying about your own life. Why?" Madison shifted awkwardly. "Oh I get it. You don't think your life is that important. You've hardly touched anyone else's. No one would really know or care that you've gone."

"Yeah ok. I don't see the point in my life." all her shyness had vanished in an instant. "But I don't want my brother to be orphaned. He may hate me but I still love him. Siblings look out for each other."

"Not all the time." Sherlock added. "Family holds you back, brings you down."

"Sherlock," he voice broke a little. "You may not love your family, but I do."

"_Love._ Such a powerful enemy..." Sherlock said as he closed his eyes. "Caring only leads to hurt, Madison. Emotions hold you back."

"You may find it easy to ignore all your emotions," she said as she picked up her blazer and put it on. "But I don't." she walked towards the door. "See you at school." she said coldly over her shoulder before walking out.

Sherlock opened one eye and closed it again. He let out a long sigh.

"Well done Sherlock." he said to himself. She was the first person who had given any real concern for his wellbeing in a long time, and he had just shunned her away.


	20. Sports Day

So so sorry I couldn't update yesterday! Technology is being stupid to me :( I know I don't usually update on the weekends but I feel mean not giving you the updates I promise :( anyway I like this chapter and personally I think it's one of the best ones so far so I hope this makes up for it!

* * *

**Sports Day**

Sherlock was released from the hospital the next day after revealing a nurse's affair with his doctor, that the hospital did not supply their patients with the legal amount of nutrients and that the patient in the room opposite's girlfriend was actually a lesbian. No one really took the news well.

Sherlock swiftly made his way towards the girl's dorms. An irritated Sally stopped him in his tracks. Sherlock frowned down at her.

"What are you doing here _freak_?" she glared at him.

"Ah so you found out how small Anderson's cock was then?" he said as he pushed the stunned girl out the way.

He was up the stairs before he could even hear Sally's reply. He got several odd looks from other girls, along with a few insults. It wasn't unusual to have a boy wondering round the girls' dorms but this was Sherlock Holmes, of course he was going to be judged.

He knocked on a door and heard shuffling inside. The door opened and Madison looked surprised at his presence.

"Sherlock?" she asked as he made his way into her room and sat on her bed, without getting her permission to enter. "Sherlock what are you doing here?"

"Catching your assassin." he said with a blank expression, apart from the excitement in his eyes.

"What?" she asked in disbelief. "No, I'm safe. They can't get into a school..."

"How naive..." said Sherlock as he stood as opened her window. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.

"Don't smoke in my room!" she frowned.

Sherlock gave her an almost disgusted look. "I haven't had a cigarette in over 24 hours. I need it." he let out the lung full of smoke out the window. "Anyway it helps me to think, especially if I'm going to catch a killer." The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

She sighed in irritation and gave up arguing with the boy. No matter what she said he would not put out that cigarette. "Sherlock, I'm fine. There's no need to worry."

He smirked. "I'm not worrying."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm here to solve a murder." the glee in his eyes was undeniable.

"There hasn't been a murder-"

"Yet." he interrupted. _This is going to be interesting_ he thought to himself.

"Sherlock, I'm going to be fine. I can defend myself."

"Can you really defend yourself against trained assassins? With guns and various other equipment they've been trained to kill you with?" he waited a brief second for her to retaliate but she did not. "Thought not." He said bluntly then took another drag of his cigarette.

Madison folded her arms and shifted uncomfortably. "Can you stop them?"

"Yes." Sherlock put out his cigarette and threw it out the window.

She nodded and unfolded her arms. "Where do we start?"

"Four simple questions. Where? When? How? Who?"

"That could take ages to work out Sherlock!"

"No I've already got two."

"Oh? Which ones?"

"Where and when."

"And they are?"

"Sports day." he said with a smile on his face. "It's obvious. Done subtly in front of a crowd, too many people, anyone could be blamed. It's tricky, but if they have been trained well, no one should notice who the killer is. I'm pretty certain it will be during your event as well. So many people will have their eyes on you and the other competitors to notice anything out of the blue." he stepped down from the window sill and perched on a chair, knees bent with his feet on the seat. "Now it's just working out who and how..."

* * *

Sherlock sat in his seat on the field, the only one in his usual school uniform. His eyes darted around the crowd of people surrounding him. He quickly found his suspects. They were the only people whose arrivals correlated Madison's. He had checked their backgrounds by hacking into the school system and deleted the innocent ones.

"Oi fag!" he heard Tim shout. "You better not be watching us as we run!"

"Yeah you pervert!" shouted Anderson next to him.

"You're the perverts." Sherlock replied with a smirk. "Only perverts watch first year girls getting changed after PE."

The pair gave him a glare and carried on walking. Sherlock had noticed their cheeks flush a little and heard sounds of disgust next to him. Other people had heard. _Brilliant_.

Sherlock watched as the competitors left to do their sport and return. He had decided it was one of the teachers who arrived as the students were too feeble and simple minded. Also the fact only two other students arrived at a similar time to Madison aided his deduction. One was a first year, shy and weak, wouldn't have the mental stability to commit murder. The other was a sixth former in by a scholarship, but he was very focused on his school work and Sherlock doubted he even knew of Madison's existence.

There were 4 teachers in total but Miss Waters was fresh out of university and too innocent to commit a crime. Also Mr Keynes was an elderly gentleman, happy marriage, young grandchildren, never been in trouble with the wrong people, also not very good around ill or injured people as he goes slightly faint at the victims of bullying. Sherlock had deleted him from the case too.

That left only Mr Andrews and Mr Miles. He brought back to reality from his mind palace by the sound of the shotgun. He had predicted that a gun would be the weapon used due to the gun to start the race did not contain bullets, but it could be easily mistaken for the sound of a real gun._ A quick switch of the two and job done._ _Simple_.

Sherlock kept his eye on Mr Miles, who was preparing to start the next race. Madison was in the race after this one. He knew this was when the hit was going to take place.

Sherlock couldn't deny the sight of an extra gun in Mr Miles' back pocket. He observed as he subtly switched the guns over.

_**BANG!**_

The gun went off and the second year boy's 100 metre sprint began. Sherlock dived into action. He leapt up and grabbed Madison's hand, who was just lining up ready for her own race.

"Run!" he shouted and dragged her after him.

Her legs could hardly keep up but adrenaline kicked in, considering she thought if she stopped running she would die.

_**BANG!**_

Another gun shot. Screams came from the crowd watching. They quickly overtook the leader of the race and crossed the line but kept running. Sherlock let go of her hand.

"Keep running!" he shouted as he stopped and ran in the opposite direction, towards the man with the gun. She did as she was told and looked back to see Sherlock giving him a hard kick to the arm, sending the weapon flying backwards. He gave the man a powerful kick to the stomach causing him to fall to the ground. Sherlock threw himself at him, causing the man to fall on his back. He kicked the gun away from the man so he couldn't reclaim it.

"Don't touch that! It's evidence!" he shouted in an irritated tone at a boy in the first year who was about to pick it up. The boy backed away slowly. Sherlock saw the teachers and other students running over to the pair on the ground.

Sherlock kicked him hard in the stomach again, winding the man and therefore causing him to be an easier target. He had learnt that from experience from his father. He kicked him again, getting out all of his aggression and anger. He jumped on top of him and let the corners of his lips curl up into a smile.

"Not a very good assassin, are you?" he said mockingly as he put his arm to his neck and punched him in the face hard. The man blacked out and Sherlock stood up, shaking his hand. That hurt more than he had anticipated.

Before he knew it there was a large group surrounding him and the unconscious man on the floor. He looked up to see the faces covered in horror and terror. Madison was running towards him and quickly grasped him into a tight hug. Sherlock frowned at the contact but hesitantly hugged her back quickly before letting her go.

"Oh my god. Thank you Sherlock!" she said shakily into his shoulder. Sherlock stood there awkwardly as she wouldn't let go. He felt her hot tears dampen his blazer.

Mr Crey stepped forward with confusion and concern covering his face.

"What happened here?" he said to Sherlock. "And why was he shooting at you?" he pointed to the unconscious man on the floor.

Sherlock peeled Madison's arms from his neck and walked over to the man. "Mr Andrews, here, is an assassin," he said as he tapped the body gently with his foot. "Sent here to kill Madison Webb to ruin her father. Bit shallow of the crime world but oh well." he began walking round the body, half enjoying the attention on him. It was nice to show off every now and again. "Mr Andrews, who isn't actually called Mr Andrews, had been sent by the big boys. He had been keeping his eye on Madison all day. He was pretty much always in earshot of her conversation and his gun was easy to see in his left pocket in his blazer." Sherlock took out his phone and began typing. "He arrived about a week after Madison because you had a lack of staff and you needed a new teacher in the physics department quickly. Not much time for background checks." he tutted. "It was the same with the other staff but it was clear they were innocent, along with the student body."

Madison frowned. "You didn't know who it was until just now. You thought it was Mr Miles." she said bluntly.

He rolled his eyes. "No I said he was a suspect. There's a _difference_." he said impatiently and frowned. "And of course it was Mr Andrews. Mr Miles was a decoy. He was uncomfortable standing there. His hands were shaking slightly and the sweat on his forehead was clear. An assassin would have been trained to not crack under the pressure. He was told to use a real gun so if the police came running, they would accuse him as the murderer because the gun would have shot one bullet, like the similar other gun that belongs to this man. Both guns contained the same type of bullet." he nodded his head toward the body on the floor. "Unluckily for him, he wasn't a very good shot and so if Madison was killed, Mr Miles would have been found innocent due to the remaining bullets in the gun." Sherlock nodded his head sideways slightly with a look of doubt on his face. "Well they may have found him innocent. The police are slow these days..." he gave a smile of satisfaction as he held up his phone to the headmaster.

"Who is," he squinted as he read the name. "Arthur Stevenson?"

"That man there." Sherlock pointed to the man on the floor. "Or Mr Andrews as you knew him..." Sherlock removed the screen from the headmaster's face and typed in 999. "Police." he said down the phone. "I've just caught you an assassin. Marina boarding school. Don't be slow." he hung up and put the phone in his pocket.

"There's one thing I don't understand." Mr Crey said as he put his hand on his hip and waved his other one in front of him. "Why did Mr Miles agree to the plan?"

"I never said he did." Sherlock turned to the pale man, now shaking with fear and relief. "Let me guess, they threatened you? No, not you in particular, your family. If you didn't go through with it, your family would suffer. Am I right?"

Mr Miles nodded slowly.

"Of course I'm right." he said and turned back to the headmaster. "Anything else?"

"Sherlock, my boy, you're a hero!" he said with a large smile on his face.

Sherlock frowned. "How am I a hero? I just deduced who an assassin was."

"Exactly!"

Sherlock's frown deepened.

"Freak's not a hero!" shouted Sally from the crowd. "He's a psychopath!"

"Who said that?" the headmaster shouted angrily.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked though the crowd towards the building. He felt a hand slip into his and he turned to his side. He saw Madison smiling up at him. He pulled his hand away and gave her a '_why would you do that?_' frown.

"You saved my life."

"I caught an assassin. Much more interesting." he put his hands in his pockets.

She looked a bit taken aback. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means thank you for supplying some entertainment in this dull school.

Goodbye Madison." he quickened his pace and left the shocked girl behind.

He regretted pushing the girl away. She was nice to him and that was very rare.

But she was leaving. It was easier to make her and for him to feel a short amount of pain before she forgot about him and moved on.

She had been a quiet girl and he'd somehow brought out the friendly person she'd hidden away inside.

He would miss her but he knew all to well that pain doesn't last forever.


	21. The Letter

**I know some of you are going to hate me for this chapter! But you guys said you wanted more emotion from Sherlock and I have been planning this for a while… hope you still enjoy it :)**

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**The Letter**

Madison left the next day, with her life being in danger and all. Sherlock didn't say goodbye. He didn't see the point. He may have saved her life, but he hadn't done it for her, he'd done it for his own enjoyment.

But now he was bored.

After a potential murder, nothing interested him. It had occurred on several occasions where he hadn't bothered to go to lessons, only to miss his lessons and be placed in detention, which he also skipped.

He had organised with the headmaster to do his biology and chemistry AS exams this summer with the sixth formers. He had learnt the syllabus by heart last year and so didn't need to revise it. He needed to be careful though. His headmaster had threatened him that he will not take the AS exams if he continued to act so rebelliously, and only do his history, geography, Latin and French GCSEs. Maybe not even them if he gets that bad. However, Sherlock knew how to control his headmaster. He hadn't pulled the 'your daughter is going to drop out of university' card yet and he was planning to use it soon if he didn't get his way.

Sherlock liked Mr Crey. Not because he liked his personality or anything, but because he allowed him to do what he wanted, pretty much when he wanted. He only minded when he caused an explosion in the labs or he was falling behind on work. Sherlock didn't care much for his second year work, especially considering he would have done half the GCSEs available at the school by the end of the year anyway.

Instead, he had begun doing various experiments in the labs. There was always at least one free lab so he made the most of it. It was better than going to pointless lessons such as 'textiles'. Why would Sherlock find different ways of making a cushion interesting?

He was studying a chemical reaction under a microscope when he heard a knock on the door. He didn't look up, knowing it wasn't a teacher; they would have just walked in. He heard the door open and ignored the person entering, continuing his experiment.

"Erm, hello..." he heard a timid girl's voice say. He looked up briefly before returning to the microscope. _New girl, year below, just transferred from London, was bullied, quite intelligent, enjoys fantasy novels, shy, not a very well off family looking at the second hand uniform but have enough money to send her to a private boarding school_.

"I, erm... Can you tell me where, erm, lab 4 is?"

"You're in lab 4, you've read the wrong week on your timetable." he said bluntly, not bothering looking up. _Typical first year._

"Oh..." she shifted on the spot "My name's Molly."

"Sherlock Holmes." he said as he changed the slide, changing the reaction in his experiment slightly to see the effects.

"Oh, I was told about you..." she said shyly.

"What were you told?" Sherlock threw the slide in the bin.

"That, erm, you're clever and erm..."

"Gay?" he looked up at her.

She nodded slowly, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Are you?"

He smirked. "Nice to meet you Molly. Goodbye." he said and waltzed past her, turning off the light behind him.

Molly stood there awkwardly in the dark room before walking out and looking at her timetable. She walked to her next class, her mind full of thoughts about the mysterious, dark haired 13 year old boy. She didn't care if he was gay or not, he was intriguing.

* * *

Sherlock made his way back to the dorms. _Why did she talk to him if she knew he was a reject? Empathy?_ He frowned. He hated to be pitied. It made him feel weak.

He unlocked the door to his dorm room and stepped inside. He looked down to see a letter on the floor. He had been expecting a reply from Jonathan for a while and smiled as he recognised the make of the envelope. He crouched down and picked it up, a frown slowly forming on his face as the writing wasn't Jonathan's. He looked at the swirl on the 'l' and the swish on the 'k' and deduced it was an elderly woman's writing so it must be Angela's.

He took out his letter opener and opened the letter. He unfolded the paper carefully and read the words, ignoring where tears had fallen onto the page from where she had been writing.

_Sherlock,_

_It is my solemn duty to inform you that Jonathan sadly passed away last night. As I'm sure you're aware, his condition had worsened after his unsuccessful operation to remove the tumour. We are all devastated at his passing. _

_We understand you and your family were very close to him after his loyal duties at your family home and so we would wish for you all to attend his funeral. I shall write again when the date has been set._

_I'm so sorry Sherlock._

_Yours, Angela._

Sherlock put the piece of paper on his desk and almost fell into his armchair. He looked down to see his hands shaking slightly and before he knew it, tears began falling down his cheeks. He put his head in his hands and let the sobs shake his body. He didn't understand his emotional response. The fact he didn't understand emotions was confusing enough, but his own emotions taking control over his mind confused and scared him.

He was extremely glad not to have a roommate at this moment in time. He had often wished for one to experiment on but not with dangerous experiments though, that would lead to him getting into more trouble than he was already in. He couldn't imagine their response and how the school would react to his outburst. The insults would just get worse.

By the time he had stopped crying, darkness had filled his room. He looked out the window and stared at the moon. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a cigarette. He lit it with a still shaking hand and opened his window. He needed to take the edge off.

He inhaled the smoke several times before throwing it out the window in frustration. Not enough. Before he knew what he was doing, he took out his phone.

_You got any drugs? - SH_

_What kind? - A_

_Whatever will get my mind off things - SH_

_Ok, usual place, 10 minutes - A_

Sherlock quickly put his phone away, checking he had money in his pocket before grabbing his coat and scarf. The nights had been surprisingly cold for this time of year, especially considering summer was around the corner. He walked swiftly down the stairs and out the door. He ran across the field to the orchard, not wanting to waste his time. He wiped his face, trying to remove any signs that he had been crying. Sherlock slowed his pace when he saw a figure leaning against a tree.

"Sherlock." he said in greeting as the curly haired boy approached.

"What've you got?" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"Some cannabis, heroin?"

"How much?" Sherlock rummaged through his pocket for some cash.

"Just give me what you got." he said and snatched the money out of his hands. He flicked through the cash and smiled. "You brought plenty didn't you?" he smirked.

"Is it _enough?_" Sherlock asked impatiently.

"What do you want?"

"Everything." he said in desperation. He was starting to get annoyed. He just wanted to get the drugs and leave.

Andy nodded. "Yeah it's enough..." he took out the drugs from his pocket.

"Inject the heroin, smoke the cannabis. Don't take it all at once unless you have a death wish." and with that, he walked off with his money in his hands.

Sherlock looked down at the drugs that had been pressed in his handstand swiftly put them in his pocket. He made his way back to his dorm and sat down on his armchair.

He took out the needle full of heroin and put it to the side. He tightly wrapped a band around his arm and waited until he could clearly see the vein. He knew how to take drugs, he'd read about it. He injected the substance into his arm and let the drug overwhelm him.

He felt a certain buzz and let his mind go blank. It was so... _peaceful_. It was as if everything going on in his head calmed down. His mind palace closed all its doors and turned off the lights, sending him to bed. But Sherlock didn't want to go to bed. He flicked the switch in his mind back on. The 'rooms' in his mind palace were brighter than ever and he began connecting things he had never realised before, adding 'secret passageways' to rooms and creating whole new rooms.

His whole body had relaxed and a dazed grin was on his face. He hadn't felt this good in years...

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**Meeting Molly, Jonathan dying _and_ him starting to take drugs… This chapter really got away from me.**


	22. The Funeral

**Nearly 90 reviews! You guys are seriously amazing! I couldn't have continued writing without your support!**

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**The Funeral**

Sherlock sat in the black car along side his brother, following the hearse in front of them. They didn't utter a word to each other, both knowing that this was no time or place to argue. They knew that if either of them even dared to open their mouths, it would end in disaster. Their parents decided not to attend, telling Angela that they were 'too upset'. Sherlock knew they were lying; neither of them had a heart.

Sherlock looked out the window to see the cemetery approaching. The car slowed down to a halt and the brothers got out of the car. Sherlock watched as 6 men, 4 in their late 20s and the other 2 in their early 30s, put the coffin on their shoulders to carry. Sherlock decided they must be his grandsons. He had often spoken about them in his letters.

He turned and saw Angela, tears already forming in her eyes before the service had even begun. Lucy passed them and gave Sherlock's shoulder a light squeeze. Little did she know, her grandfather had done the exact same thing to him on his first day of school. Sherlock and Mycroft took their place behind Jonathan's family and close friends and followed the group to where the ceremony was about to take place and where Jonathan would remain forever.

Sherlock took a seat near the back of the crowd, purposefully away from his brother, who, for once, didn't retaliate against one of his decisions. Everyone settled and took their seats. He listened to the vicar talk about Jonathan's life and he realised how little he really knew about him, even after writing to him for over a year.

"One day Jonathan passed a young lady in the street and he distinctly remembered her red coat. As he only lived in a small village, he asked around, trying to find out who the woman in the red coat was. When he found out who it was, he went to the bakery where she worked everyday, just to catch a glimpse of her." Sherlock heard Angela sob quietly. "One day, he finally spoke to the woman and soon found out her name was Angela."

Sherlock closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He controlled his emotions. He would not cry. He was going to stay strong.

He continued to listen to the vicar's speech until other people began recalling their memories. He recognised Lucy's voice and gave her a small nod in support.

The next voice he heard surprised him. He looked up to see Mycroft standing by the grave.

"Jonathan served my family well for many years, long before I was born." his voice was shaking slightly. Sherlock had never heard him sound or look so vulnerable. "He was like the grandfather I never had. My brother and I were never too close to our parents," understatement "but he was always there for me in my hour of need. He was always there for my brother when I could not be. They were close, very close; much closer than I was to him. I will forever be indebted to him." Mycroft returned to his seat.

Everyone stood as his body was lowered into the ground. The grave was filled and people placed their flowers on the grave. Sherlock thought this was pointless. He was dead. He wouldn't know if there were flowers on his grave or not. Besides, what would a dead person do with flowers?

Sherlock waited for the group to disperse before walking up to the headstone. He crouched down and traced the words with his fingers. He sighed.

"I'm sorry Jonathan." he said, remembering the last time they had spoken to each other and realising how he had almost shouted at the old man about his self harm. He pulled up his sleeve and looked at the faint white lines on his wrist. They may have been an experiment at the time, but now it was a constant reminder of how he had treated Jonathan wrongly. He was glad they had continued to write. He never actually thanked Jonathan for forgetting about their 'argument', but he knew he had forgiven him all the same. He felt stupid not realising how bad Jonathan's condition was after he had decided not to deduce what he could from his writing. He had basically told Sherlock all he needed to know anyway so there was no point trying to work it out. That was one of Jonathan's many good traits: honesty.

Sherlock remembered the letter he had sent informing him about returning to hospital to have the operation, but he thought nothing of it. Jonathan had always been so stable, so strong in his eyes. He was certain he could make it. But he was _wrong_.

He hadn't trusted his judgement for a little while after finding out about his death, but he soon remembered Miss Holloway's colourful sign above her whiteboard:

_Everyone makes mistakes_.

The memory had returned his faith in himself and recalled his conversation with his butler about it after his first day.

_"Mycroft doesn't make mistakes." Sherlock argued._

_"Mycroft has made many mistakes, master Sherlock. That's how you learn. You make mistakes and you can see where you went wrong so you will get it right next time."_

_"But Mycroft is always right!"_

_"I must agree he is on many occasions. But remember master Sherlock, you will never have true wisdom; unless you have made all the mistakes you can and learnt from them."_

Sherlock remembered this conversation well. It had inspired him to try out new things, to take risks, all to find true wisdom. However, he was only a child and so did not understand it.

Sherlock decided Jonathan was the wisest man he new. He had had so much experience in life, that he had made all the mistakes.

He stood up slowly and made his way over to the gate where his brother was waiting, umbrella in hand.

Mycroft looked at his brother, not having to look down anymore. How he had grown...

For the first time in many years, Mycroft saw the sadness in his little brother's eyes, and it broke his heart. He didn't say anything, didn't react in any way, just turned and walked towards their waiting car. Mycroft opened his brother's door before getting in the other side. He heard the door close and waved his hand as a signal for their driver to go. They had decided to just return home rather than go to Angela and Jonathan's home like everyone else was.

The journey was yet again sat in silence.

* * *

Mycroft got out the car and walked towards the house where he grew up, his brother shuffling slowly behind. He opened the door for him and watched as the teenage boy walked up the stairs, 2 steps at a time. He knew he would be back to normal tomorrow, or as close to normal as Sherlock could ever get.

Sherlock closed his door behind him and removed the black tie around his neck. He threw it onto the floor and sat on his bed. He rubbed his shaking hand through his hair. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

_Cigarette_.

He put his hand in his pocket to find the pack empty. He walked over to his case to see if he could find some.

_None._

But he did find the heroin. He held it up to the light. He remembered the peace of mind it had given him. He needed it now, more than ever.

Sherlock took it out of his case and locked his door before sitting in his bed. He took the cap off the needle, noticing there was more of the drug in this one than the last. He injected it into his arm and forced the substance into his body slowly. He closed his eyes and let a smile appear on his lips.

Everything was colourful again. He could see things in his mind he hadn't seen before. He fell backwards onto his bed and let out a sigh of relief. He spread out his arms wide, as if trying to make himself as big as possible.

He heard a knock at his door.

"Sherlock?" he heard his brother's voice ask quietly. It was the first time he had spoken to him today.

"_Piss off_!" was his only response. He didn't want to speak to Mycroft and luckily his brother had got the message and left him in peace. He knew that if it had been an ordinary day, his brother would not have just left whatever the matter was. He was probably checking how he was, but Sherlock didn't care.

Sherlock opened his eyes and twisted his head to the side. He glared at the scars on his wrist, his bad reminder, his constant reminder. He sat up and began scratching the white lines with his other hand. He didn't understand what he was doing.

He scratched harder, his nails digging into his skin. It only became red from irritation and emphasised the scars further. He stood suddenly and felt a little faint. He ignored it and walked over to his desk where he pulled out a pair of scissors. He opened them and watched the light bounce off of the blade into his eyes.

He clasped them in his hand and took swift, violent slices into his wrist.

"Go away." he said to the scars. "Go away." He kept repeating it with each cut he made.

His breathing rate quickened and he dropped the scissors when he gained his control over the drugs again.

_What am I doing?_ He thought to himself, a frown appearing on his face.

He watched the blood trickle down him forearm and drip onto the carpet below. He found it kind of hypnotic, the way it just fell. The colours of the world faded into black and white, only leaving the deep red of his blood.

He clutched his hair and squeezed his eyes shut, as if it would help the sudden pain in his head. He stumbled on his feet, taking a few steps forward and backwards, trying to regain his balance.

He fell onto his bed, feeling faint. His blood was still surging out of his wrist but Sherlock knew he hadn't cut an artery but there was still plenty of blood.

He grabbed his discarded tie and tied it around his wrist, trying to stop the continuous flow of blood. It helped a bit and the amount of blood pouring from his wrist reduced dramatically.

But he soon gave up.

He closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.


	23. Irritating Brother

**Irritating brother**

Sherlock opened his eyes. He saw them morning sun streaming through the curtains. He sat up slowly and lifted his hands to rub his eyes. Before he did, however, he saw the reddy brown substance on his hand. He flexed his hand open and closed, watching how it cracked and crumbled. He felt stiff on one side of his face where the blood had also dried from where he had touched it.

He still felt a bit light headed but he stood up and walked to his en suite. He turned on the shower to warm up the water and looked at himself in the mirror. Sherlock frowned at his appearance. The curly locks on his head had stuck to his face from the blood and his eyes were dark. He looked at his clothes; they also had blood on them. He sighed and stripped down and took a shower, washing his body and hair, trying to hide what had occurred the night before. The last thing he wanted was for his parents, Mycroft or the staff to ask what had happened.

He was careful around the cuts on his wrist. Why he had only done it to one, he was unsure. It must have been the drugs taking over. He didn't like that experience. He always _needed_ to be in control. He _needed to know_ what he was doing.

Sherlock exited the shower and put a towel around his waist. He walked back into his room and opened his wardrobe. He pulled out a pair of black trousers and a t-shirt. He hated how his mother had decided he should look more like a 'normal teenager' and so had changed the contents of his wardrobe completely, apart from a suit for special occasions.

He put on the clothes, only to notice the cuts were very clear on his wrist, so he took off his shirt and replaced it with a long sleeved blouse. He also pulled out a smart blazer and put it on. He didn't care about the latest fashion trends so he just wore what he thought suited him and felt comfortable. He smirked at his reflection. He looked closer to 16 than his actual age of 13. He thought it could come in handy in future.

He quickly rubbed his towel through his hair and walked out of his room. He made his way to the kitchen where he was given a few hesitant looks from the staff. Sherlock rolled his eyes and filled the kettle. While he waited for it to boil, he took out a mug and put a teabag in it. He smirked at the staff and their looks of disbelief. They obviously didn't think he could make a cup of tea. Sherlock poured in the hot water and walked towards the door, stirring in the sugar. He dumped the spoon on the side for someone else to clean up. They had enough time on their hands as it is.

Sherlock walked into his and Mycroft's old workroom, only to find his brother already sat in there reading an old text book of his.

"Finishing university a year early with honours." Sherlock took a sip of his tea. "_Congratulations_ dear brother." he said drenched in sarcasm.

"Oh Sherlock." he closed his old book. "You're going to love university." he said mockingly.

"I highly doubt it. It sounds boring." Sherlock made his way over to his old armchair and sat down gracefully.

"Yes, well, you would, wouldn't you?" Mycroft put down the book and gave his brother a fake smile.

"Been snatched up by the government already? Well, the people behind the power anyway..."

"Indeed so. But I cannot tell you about it, nor can you tell anyone else, or I'd have to kill you."

"Oh brother you don't need to tell me." Sherlock said bluntly, taking another sip of his tea. "I already know what you will be doing."

Mycroft nodded. "Of course you do brother." he said, half seriously, half sarcastic. He didn't doubt his brother knew all about his future job. Sherlock just knew things and no one really knew how.

They sat in an awkward silence for a few seconds.

"Taking your exams in a few weeks then?" Mycroft asked, shifting his position slightly.

Sherlock put down his now empty mug. "_Obviously._"

"Revised?"

"Is there a reason to?"

"AS exams are much harder than GCSEs Sherlock."

"For _normal _people they are." Sherlock mocked his brother, knowing he had found year 12 a much harder year than he had expected.

"When I was your age-"

"You were dull and short." Sherlock interrupted with a smirk.

Mycroft took a deep breath before continuing. "When I was your age, I was just starting my SATs."

"SATs don't exist anymore brother, do keep up."

"Sherlock." Mycroft used his warning tone.

"What?" Sherlock replied impatiently.

Mycroft sighed. "Times have changed, Sherlock."

"You think I don't know that?" Sherlock snapped.

"I understand you've not made any friends," he paused before adding "_again_."

"Friends slow you down. All that matters is what's in here." he tapped the side of his head.

"Shame about that Madison girl. I thought you were interested in her..."

"No, I was interested in her possible assassination. It entertained me for a while." he lied. He had liked Madison but her murder he stopped was far more interesting.

Mycroft sighed. "I've decided you're going to have a roommate next year."

Sherlock frowned at his brother. "Is this some kind of joke? You know humour doesn't amuse me."

"I've done it in hope that you shall communicate with your fellow students next year."

Sherlock scowled at him. "I do communicate with them."

"Telling them their life stories from one look doesn't count as communication."

"Who've you been paying this time?"

Mycroft smiled. "I'll leave you to work that one out brother." He got up and left the room, leaving Sherlock thanking god he hadn't noticed his cut wrist.

He pulled up his sleeve slightly and looked at the healing lines. He had regretted what he had done last night. It was stupid and Sherlock _hated_ feeling stupid. All he had was his knowledge.

He was driven by grief and drugs. He had been able to control them last time. He may have taken a slightly bigger dose this time round, but it wasn't so much that it controlled him. It must have been the grief. Sherlock didn't like grief; it was an emotion.

It didn't make sense. He must have taken more than he thought...

Sherlock returned to reality as a maid entered the room to clean. She looked slightly startled to see Sherlock sitting in his chair, watching her.

"Sorry master Sherlock, I didn't see you there." she said.

"It's fine." Sherlock stood. "I was just leaving anyway."

"Very good sir." she said and curtseyed.

"Don't do that." he said to her. He hated curtseys, they were pointless. "At least not to me anyway."

"Sorry master Sherlock." she said shyly as he walked out the room, mug in hand.

He quickly dumped it in the kitchen and went back to his room to finishing packing his things. He opened his case and saw the drugs on top. He quickly stuffed them to the bottom of his bag, hoping his brother hadn't already gone through it and seen them. He packed the rest of the clothes he would actually wear.

He closed his case and put it by the door, ready for their new butler to take to the car tomorrow. Sherlock heard a knock on his door and saw his brother leaning on the doorframe. It had only been 20 minutes since they last spoke. _For god's sake, what does he want now? _Sherlock thought.

"Ah, Mycroft, always a pleasure." he said sarcastically.

"Sherlock," he began. Sherlock heard the subtle concern in his voice. "How long have you been self harming?"

Sherlock sighed. He had seen his wrist after all. "Why would you care?"

"You're my brother."

"Well done."

"Sherlock, self harming won't help anything."

"I did it once. It was an experiment."

"Sherlock I can see the other scars, and the new cuts there today."

"Yesterday." he said and rolled his eyes. He sat on the bed and picked up his violin. "And okay I did it twice. I just wanted to see the effect of cuts on scars. It was an _experiment_." he out the bow to the strings and began playing, drowning out the sound of his brother's voice.

"Sherlock, don't do it again..." Mycroft said as he gave up and walked out the room.

He continued playing his violin for most of the day. It had been a while since he picked it up. He had missed the sound of the instrument.

Sherlock stayed upstairs most of the day, skipping meal times. He didn't see his parents once.

He went to bed and actually tried to get some sleep, which was a rare occasion for him. He discovered not too long ago that he suffered from mild insomnia, but most of the time he chose not to sleep.

Tomorrow he was returning to school but he knew it would be no different. No one would have realised he was gone; he wasn't in lessons anyway.


	24. Keep Out

**Next chapter up! Hope you enjoy this one as much as I did writing it :)**

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**Keep out**

"Oh! Sherlock! I, er, where have you been the last few days?"

That was the last thing Sherlock was expecting when he had returned.

He had unpacked his belongings and was on his way to class. It was more interesting than just sitting doing nothing. Well, there were no labs free so he would have to go to class to prevent him from dying of boredom anyway.

He turned around to see that girl in the first year... _Name? Oh what was her name?_ He quickly searched his mind palace and discovered what it was. Molly. Yes, that was it. She was carrying a rather large pile of textbooks, taking them to her lesson. She was going to drop them any minute now…

"Funeral." he said, looking her up and down. He glanced at the top textbook. _Physics._ His least favourite science.

"Oh… I'm sorry. For you loss I mean..." she said, nearly dropping the top textbook but recovering it with her chin just in time.

"Hm." Sherlock turned around and continued walking to his lesson. He was slightly surprised to see her following, trying to keep up with his pace.

_Oh great_, he thought, _she fancies me_.

"Who was it?" she asked. He could sense the pity. It disgusted him.

"Old butler, cancer." he said bluntly. He put on his emotionless mask, trying to put her off talking to him. She wasn't fazed. She just tried to keep the conversation going.

"Sorry..." she said sympathetically.

"Hm." Sherlock said again.

"My granddad died last year..."

"Don't try and make chit chat, Molly." He thought the more direct approach would be better. He was wrong.

"No... I, I just thought... If you need someone, I mean..."

"Molly-" Sherlock said in something similar to Mycroft's warning voice. He stopped himself from shuddering at the thought of being similar to his brother. That was the _last_ thing he wanted.

"Sorry, it's just... If you need someone to talk to, you can come to me... Wait I mean..." Sherlock smirked at her reddening face. "You can talk to me... If you want to..."

Sherlock didn't really know what to say. "Thank you." was his response after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence.

Molly smiled shyly. "No problem..." she turned off from Sherlock's route and tried to open the door to her lab, only to have the textbooks falling out of her hands all over the floor. Sherlock hesitated before walking over and he helped her pick up the books. He opened the door for her and received many a suspicious look from her classmates. He had realised to make Molly be quiet around him he just needed to be nice. The result of his actions caused her to be shy.

"Ah Molly! You're a star!" said her physics teacher, indicating towards the books "and Sherlock..." she frowned slightly in confusion.

"Mrs Bailey." Sherlock said with a nod of his head. He knew the woman from last year. She was one of few who weren't annoyed with him, well, not _too_ much anyway.

"Thanks..." said Molly shyly, before handing out the textbooks to the class.

"Are you staying Sherlock?" Mrs Bailey asked. He could sense in her voice that she really didn't want him to, but she was one of few teachers he thought wasn't too bad so didn't stay to annoy her.

"No, physics is boring." he said, turning on his heel and making his usual dramatic exit, sending the door flying behind him before it slammed shut by itself.

Sherlock walked down the science corridor until he got to his chemistry lesson. He found that chemistry was the best of the sciences. The others were dull with less interesting experiments, unless there was a dissection in biology. That could be interesting if the teacher didn't see what he was really doing to a pig's heart or a sheep's eye rather than just dissecting it. He liked to perform his own experiments on them. The class was always warned about when they would carry out a dissection so he came prepared, often stealing chemicals from a science lab to use.

The situation didn't usually end well in his favour.

He walked into the lab and the general conversation stopped. All eyes were on him.

"Mr Holmes, you finally cared to join us." his teacher said, oblivious that the boy had not been attending school for the last few days.

"Depends if you're doing something interesting." he replied bluntly.

"What do you think Mr Holmes?"

"Oh I don't know... Doing anything on Nomenclature and Isomerism in Organic Chemistry?"

His teacher made no reply and just folded his arms.

"I take that as a no then." Sherlock turned to his class and looked at them as if they were dirt on his shoe. He glared at Anderson when he saw him mouth the word 'fag' at him. He ignored the frown Tony gave him before turning back to the teacher.

"No, this is a year 8 class, not a year 13 class." the teacher said impatiently.

"I'll be off then." Sherlock span around and opened the door.

"Mr Holmes you can't just-" the teacher's voice was cut off by the door slamming behind him.

Sherlock took a leisurely stroll down the corridor, peering into different classes.

_Why were there no free labs? It was so annoying!_

Sherlock grunted in frustration. He didn't want to go back to his room so he decided to go on a walk down to the village not too far away.

There was no need for his coat or scarf as the summer approached quickly. He only had about a month of the school year left, when he will be doing his exams before returning to the house in which he grew up. He never referred to it as home, it didn't feel like one. There was only one positive for this summer, there would be no Mycroft. He would be too busy with his new job '_for_' the government.

He thought back to the days when he anticipated for Mycroft's return home...

"_Jonathan! When are you going to pick up Mycroft?" The small boy shouted._

_The old man laughed at the 3 year old. "The same time I do everyday master Sherlock. He will be back by 3:30."_

"_But I want to see him now!" Sherlock folded his arms and scowled at the floor._

"_Patience, master Sherlock. Don't worry; he'll be back very soon."_

_Sherlock sat and stared out the window, watching at the car vanished from sight, waiting for his brother to return and tell him all about his day._

How naive he had been.

* * *

Sherlock wondered through the main road of the village. It had a few small shops, quite a few houses and great views of the countryside around them. Of course Sherlock didn't care for these features, he just wondered around, cigarette in hand, until he saw the sign.

_Keep out_

_All trespassers will be prosecuted._

Sherlock quickly crossed the road and looked around to see if anyone was watching before picking the lock and stepping inside the deserted building. He never could resist a _'keep out'_ sign.

Sherlock walked into the hallway of the rather large house. He looked around. Everything was covered in dust; no one had been here for a long time. He noticed some police tape and smiled. He had just stumbled upon an old crime scene.

His pace quickened, along with his heart beat, as he headed towards the only open door in the hall, which he presumed was where crime was committed. He looked inside and a broad grin spread across his face.

_Murder scene._

Sherlock quickly got out his phone and began taking pictures of things, just for future reference. He found he was smiling, finding that standing where a murder had taken place quite exciting.

He remembered when Mycroft had told him about the murder in the village when he was in his third year. Sherlock had listened, but hadn't really _cared_. He had just begun to find his brother adequate, but him rambling on about a murder had got on his nerves so he ignored him.

He had said about a 'Mr Graham Bingley' being murdered in his own home, where he lived alone. His murderer was caught a few months later after a thorough investigation and sent to jail for 25 years.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _How could the police have seriously taken that long to catch his murderer? They were all so thick._

He looked at the old blood splatter on the wall and floor, noticing how the victim must have been pressed against the wall, stabbed in the heart and then thrown on the floor. Six obvious things could be deduced from that.

Firstly, the victim was most likely male, especially with that kind of strength. He knew the victim was a 26 year old male, 5 foot 11, worked in the local shop, healthy and exercised regularly, so the killer would have been able to overpower him. A woman would have been most likely too weak to take on a strong young male.

Secondly, the murderer must have been stronger than the victim, being able to hold back the victim against a wall with one arm meant he must be strong, his other hand would have been holding the knife, _obviously_. Also that he could throw the body across the room in one swift movement, due to the lack of a _trail_ of blood, only two rather large puddles, emphasised his point further.

Thirdly, following on from the second point, the murderer would have most likely had a laboured job, so he could have worked on the farm not too far away or something like that. He would say an industrial job but there were no industrial sites around here for miles. The only other option being he worked out regularly, but there was not a local gym around, the nearest one being a 40 minute drive away at the nearest town.

Fourthly, he would have been quite well educated, and so probably attended the boarding school. During their time at the school, they would have had the opportunity to dissect a heart 3 times if they took it all the way to A level. This would have meant the murderer would have known the heart structure and how to find it in the body easily, which is why the victim was killed with one swift blow to the heart.

Fifthly, the killer was quite young, or at least under the age of 30. After that age, most people would have forgotten most of their education, especially after going into a certain area of work. They would only remember what they needed to know and pointless other things. He was also able to overpower the victim so must have been a similar age, if not slightly older.

Finally, it was clear there was only one stab made with a rather large knife due to the single blood splatter on the wall. There would be very little blood on the wall with a smaller knife, as it would not have gone all the way through, but it was a large knife as it also pierced the wall. He could see the wood on the wall had splintered slightly from where the knife had been.

Sherlock felt a sense of accomplishment. All of that information from some old blood splatters on the wall. _Brilliant._


	25. Information

**98 reviews? You guys are seriously awesome!**

* * *

**Information**

Sherlock was right.

As soon as he returned to his dorm room he had researched to find out more about the murder on his laptop. It didn't take him long to find what he wanted.

The murderer, Richard Bolten, age 28, had killed the victim with one accurate stab to the heart with an 11 inch knife after his fiancée had cheated on him with the victim. _Revenge, how predictable and dull._ He had attended the school, before he worked on the farm, which was his father's, for 9 years. Jailed for 25 years, just as Mycroft had said.

Sherlock had had a certain buzz when he was at the murder scene. It was like nothing he had ever experienced. It wasn't as exhilarating and dangerous as when he was avoiding being shot a few months ago, not as fascinating or risky as the Carl Powers murder, but it was still kind of exciting. The idea of standing in the same room as a murdered body was strangely interesting. He liked picking out small details and making connections. It made him want to do it again.

Sherlock walked out the school building to meet his driver, luckily minus Mycroft this year. He was still angry that the bastard was going to make him share a dorm room next year. Even if the boy would be useful for experiments, he had no idea who it would be. He hoped it would be someone quiet who would not argue with him, allowing him to continue what he was doing. He hoped it wouldn't be Anderson and prayed it wouldn't be Tony.

The driver took Sherlock's case and put it in the boot as he sat in the back of the car. He took out his phone to find 3 missed calls from Mycroft. He knew he had been calling earlier but chose it ignore it, as usual.

_I prefer to text - SH_

He quickly sent the message to him. It didn't take too long for his brother to reply.

_I was just making sure my baby brother was on his way home - MH_

_You have a tracker in my phone. Why do you need to ask? - SH_

_Better to hear it from the man himself - MH_

_It just wastes my time and yours. - SH_

Sherlock pocketed his phone and ignored the vibration in his pocket as his brother texted him back. He also ignored it when he began calling again. He would have turned his phone off but he never did that; not _ever_.

The fact his brother had put a tracker in his phone irritated him, yet he did not remove it as he knew he would just replace it; he'd done that before.

Sherlock stretched out his legs in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. That was the advantage of this new car, plenty of leg room.

He looked out the window at the world passing by. _How dull_.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, accessing his mind palace to entertain his long journey home.

* * *

Sherlock ignored his parents as he entered the building. He did not care for them and they did not care for him. He just carried his case up the stairs and to his room. He didn't even give them the satisfaction of a glance.

Sherlock dumped his case on the bed and began unpacking. He didn't want to waste time. He was going to look around London. After all, he hadn't seen the streets in a very long time. He strangely missed London, finding the countryside dull and unexciting. There were always the same people there but in London, there were new people everyday; _hundreds_ of new people to deduce and entertain him for a while.

He quickly got changed out of his uniform and put on some other clothes. He grabbed his phone and some money and walked out the door, ignoring the protests from a few members of staff.

He found his way to the underground and got on a train, on his way to London bridge. There were always plenty of people there, business people, families, suspicious looking people, joggers and many more. He had often seen celebrities and camera crews there but celebrities didn't interest him. He preferred taking a taxi, but he had had enough of riding in cars for today. A long journey all the way from Summerset to London was rather boring.

He stepped of the train after telling a woman her fiancée was cheating on her, causing her to run off the train crying and the man shouting at him to "piss off and stay out of other people's business" before following. He didn't think they would be so upset. He made his way along the Thames until he found a bench and sat to observe.

He looked at a middle aged gentleman in a hurry.

_Businessman, suit and briefcase, in a hurry so he was late for a meeting of some sort, important meeting at that, mumbling to himself as if he was trying to remember his speech so it was more than likely to be a pitch. Recently divorced, slight tan line on ring finger where his wedding ring used to be, losing his tan so must have been about a year ago when he was still wearing it, probably using the holiday as a last resort to try and rescue is marriage, obviously hadn't worked. Arthritis in right hand, briefcase in left hand and band around his right arm to try and reduce pain. Tuna sandwich for lunch, bit of mayonnaise and tuna on the collar of his suit jacket, in a hurry so didn't have time to clean up after himself, probably eating while on the move, making the most of a meal deal at one of the local shops, probably boots as that was nearby and a man of his size wouldn't have been walking for too long, especially with his red cheeks, suggesting he was worn out already, even though he was only walking. Two grown up children, probably around the age of 24, weren't really affected by their parents' divorce. Smoker, nicotine marks on his fingernailss and keeps touching his mouth, hasn't had one in a while but needs to put on a good front to whoever he was going to pitch to so was resisting the urge._

Oh how Sherlock had missed this...

His attention was drawn to a young woman pushing a pram while trying to control a small rebellious child.

_Late twenties, recently had a miscarriage, glad about the miscarriage, unwanted third child, unknown father, probably a one night stand. Single mother, looking after two young children alone, stressed, tired, dark shadows around her eyes, no time for makeup or to do her hair nicely. Currently out of work, these are the main working hours and she can't leave two young children alone during night shifts, not enough money for a baby sitter, living off benefits. No time for herself, clothes not ironed. Annoyed, keeps looking at her children as if they were holding her back, or that she had just given up, ignoring her wailing child in the pram-_

"Sherlock?" his deductions were annoyingly interrupted by a familiar voice. "Hey! Sherlock!"

"Lestrade." he said in response to the figure jogging towards him away from a group of students. He grunted irritably. He didn't want to sit around having a 'chat', he wanted to deduce!

"Hey! Didn't expect to see you around here. Small world, eh? How've you been?" he took a seat next to him, broad smile on his face.

"Hm." was Sherlock's response to the question. After sitting in an awkward silence, Sherlock realised that Greg wasn't moving any time soon so he thought he might as well carry on the conversation. "Enjoying university I see?"

"It's hard, but brilliant. Get to spend a semester in Scotland Yard next year, should be good."

This created a small interest in Sherlock. "What will you be doing?"

"Looking at how the system works there, paperwork and stuff."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Boring_. He was at least expecting him to go to a crime scene.

"How's school?"

"Dull."

Greg laughed slightly. "Trust me, you will prefer university."

"So I've heard."

"Greg! Come on we're going to be late!" a red haired girl called over to him. _Thank God _Sherlock thought.

"Hang on Shannon, I'll be there in a sec!" he called back before standing and turning back to Sherlock. "Still got the same number?"

Sherlock nodded his head before also standing.

"Okay, well, I'll call you sometime?"

"I prefer to text." Sherlock began walking in the other direction before calling over his shoulder. "See you around Lestrade."

"See ya Sherlock!" the student called back before making his way back to his friends.

He stayed for a few hours, deducing people and then Sherlock decided to return home. There was no point in avoiding it; he had to go back eventually. It was getting dark anyway.

* * *

The train was emptier on the way back, luckily preventing Sherlock from insulting anyone else. He got off to change trains but decided to walk back. It was quite a few miles but Sherlock didn't want to be home any time soon.

He strolled down the busy streets of London, staying in the shadows, not drawing attention to himself. If he did, he would be sent home straight away, maybe even have to go to the police station. Sherlock still watched people pass by, deducing them before turning to the next person. They were all pretty similar, many of them being students going clubbing and people going to work their night shifts.

Sherlock thrust his hands deep into his pockets. His parents wouldn't be worrying about him; they probably hadn't even noticed he was gone. He hadn't been looking where he was going and so ended up tripping over a boy sitting on the floor. He didn't fall, just stumbled a bit before composing himself.

"Sorry!" said the boy, moving his knees closer to his chest.

"It's fine." Sherlock replied before deducing the child. _Age 9/10, homeless, no parents, well not anymore, were all on the street before abandoning him for their own selfish reasons, just another mouth to try and feed. Been on the street for about 3 years, at least one of them spent alone, self reliant, feels he has nothing left to live for._

"Have you got any change?" he asked hesitantly, holding up an old can with a few coppers in it.

Sherlock thought about this. He could use the boy to his advantage. "Depends, has anything interesting happened around here lately?"

"What do you mean by interesting?" a confused frown appeared on the boy's face.

"Crimes, murders, anything like that."

"This is London, there's always crimes going on somewhere."

"Yes but where _precisely_? Murders? Any?"

"There was that one murder not too long ago." Sherlock raised his eyebrows expectantly. "Some lady was shot by someone, no family or fiends. Apparently a bit of a hermit. Police have been stumped for days..."

_Typical police_, he thought.

"Where was it?" Sherlock asked.

"Near Waterloo, there was something in the paper a few days ago about it. I found it in the bins. You wanna look?" the boy rummaged through a bag on his left, the only belongings he had. He held up the paper to Sherlock and he almost snatched it out of his hands.

He skim read the article, taking in the necessary pieces of information. He quickly passed the paper back to the boy before putting his hand in his pocket and pulling out a £10 note. He stuffed it in the boy's tin.

"Thank you!" the boy beamed.

Sherlock nodded once before continuing on his course home. He would go there tomorrow, try and sneak in, just like the Carl Powers case. There was no point in going there now, he thought it wiser to go home first. The earlier he got back, the smaller the punishment would be. If his parents found he didn't come back at night, only to be arrested for 'interrupting' a police investigation, it would not end well. It would also more than likely end up in him having a beating from his father.

He found the homeless boy had been quite useful. Maybe he could use him in the future...


	26. A Noise Downstairs

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**YOU ROCK!**

* * *

**Summer begins**

_17 Ufford Street._

Sherlock had remembered the address from the newspaper. He got off the underground at southwark, saving his money for a taxi later, and made the short walk to the scene of the murder.

Janet Heart, age 33, killed from a single bullet to the back of the head. No family or friends, only seen with random men, one night stands, worked in a local pub, steady income.

He found out the police were confused as her body was facing the door. They believed there was no logical reason behind her death. Sherlock decided he was going to prove them wrong. It was always logical.

Sherlock hid behind a car as he watched the police outside the scene. He waited for their backs to be turned before quickly moving inside the house. There were no police inside, their investigation continuing elsewhere. He put on his gloves, knowing he shouldn't leave any sign that he had been there.

He stepped carefully into the room where the body had been. Unfortunately it had already been removed, only the white outline of her position remained. He looked at the small blood puddle on the floor from where she had been shot. He frowned as he saw her head had been twisted towards the same direction as her outstretched arm. He got down on the floor, in the same position as she was and smiled. He walked over to the chest of drawers and pulled out the phone from underneath. He pressed a button and the screen lit up. He read the text.

_You broke my heart. I'll stop yours from beating._

Death threat. Simple. Revenge and love were the clear motives here. A recent love affair, she had dumped him, the text clearly proving that.

Sherlock returned to the body's position. He looked at where the bullet would have come from. The window.

It was clear the gun used was not in the room, neighbours would have heard it and there would be more blood. He looked out the window, at where the bullet would have come from. It seemed to have come from a house not too far along the road.

"God the police are _thick._.." he said to himself as he pulled looked at the phone again, seeing the text did not come from a blocked number. Amateur murderer, probably their first time killing someone, guilt would be slowly killing them, along with fear and paranoia. _Easy target_.

He dialled the number, knowing the murderer would pick up, considering he thought the victim would be dead. Sherlock coughed slightly, ready to speak in his fake adult voice. His voice had completely broken so it didn't take much effort anymore. He had a naturally low voice so that helped greatly.

The phone rang three times before someone picked up. There was no voice on the other end though.

"I know it was you." Sherlock said. "Come to the window." he waited until he saw a figure emerge at the window of house 20. He hid to the side of the window so the murderer couldn't see him. He heard shaky, panicked breaths come from the other end of the line. "Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Go up to the police, tell them everything and go quietly. Your other option, well, let's just say it won't be as pleasant. Nod if you understand." Sherlock peeked out the window to see the middle aged man nod. "Good. Tell them nothing of this phone call." Sherlock hung up the phone and placed it back in its original position under the chest of drawers.

He swiftly made his way into the back garden and jumped over the fence, making his escape.

He was quite disappointed with that 'mystery'. It was so simple to solve, he would even bet Anderson could solve it. Now _that_ was saying something.

He quickly hailed a cab and made his way back home.

* * *

To be perfectly honest, Sherlock found that case rather uninteresting and predictable. He did not understand how the police had not worked it out, and how they are letting the general public down. He could get into a crime scene undetected after all. He had also had a disadvantage. Most of the evidence had been removed or contaminated and yet the police still couldn't work it out.

Sherlock opened the front door to his house and was greeted by an unwelcomed familiar voice.

"Good to see you're getting some sun brother. Where have you been?"

"Mycroft." Sherlock stated as a welcome, ignoring the question entirely.

"You should go in the sun more often. You're always so pale staying cramped up inside doing... 'experiments'"

"Experiments are useful Mycroft. I wouldn't expect you to understand." Sherlock frowned at his brother's opinion "What are you doing here anyway?"

"I live here-"

"_Used_ to live here." Sherlock corrected quickly.

"I used to live here. I have the right to come visit my family."

"Only if the family want to see you too."

"Mummy is very glad about my arrival."

"The same can't be said for me."

"You used to love it when I returned home."

"That was before you turned into an insufferable dick." Sherlock walked up the stairs. He would converse with his brother later, if it was entirely _necessary_.

Mycroft watched his brother go before letting out a sigh. He worried about his brother. He didn't look healthy. He was too skinny and too pale. He needed help.

Sherlock laid down on his bed and closed his eyes, finding, for some strange reason, that he was rather tired. He soon fell asleep.

* * *

Sherlock awoke with a start. There was a noise downstairs. He was never a deep sleeper, so most noises woke him up. He looked out his window to see it was now dark outside. He glanced at his watch on the bedside table.

_3AM_

_Why would there be people downstairs at 3AM?_

Sherlock swung his legs off the side if the bed and stood up. He heard muffled voices come from downstairs.

He grabbed his dressing gown and put it on, along with his slippers to prevent his feet making too much noise against the hardwood floor. He slowly opened his door and walked out of the room cautiously, making sure to close the door behind him to avoid suspicion. He looked at his brother's room, only to see the door still closed with the lights out. He seemed to have slept through the noise. The door to his parent's room, however, was slightly ajar.

Sherlock placed his hand on the banister and walked down the stairs slowly, cleverly remembering to avoid that squeaky step, four away from the bottom. He turned to see a light on in the main living area.

Sherlock decided it would not be wise to sit outside the room and listen as they could leave the room and easily spot him. No, instead he made his way into the kitchen, knowing the room was right next door. He opened one of the cupboards to find a glass and carefully placed it on the wall. He pressed his ear to it and listened to the voices.

"You can't keep on entering my home in the middle of the night, especially with both my sons here." he heard his father say. "They might hear you."

"We don't care." Sherlock heard an unfamiliar voice. "We want our money."

"And you know what happens to those who don't give us what we want." he heard another voice say.

"I can get your money." his father said impatiently. He wasn't threatened by these men. That was the _only_ thing Sherlock admired about his father, he was always strong, never gave in to peer pressure.

"You better or we'll cut off your protection. You know some people want to kill you. You've ruined many people's lives. They're going to find you eventually. You need us."

"Regular payments, once a month, every month, or you know what will happen." a different voice said.

"Take this as a warning, Mr Holmes. Next time we may not be so forgiving."

Sherlock heard the door open and watched as three men in suits walked out of the living area, luckily not seeing him. Sherlock returned the glass and waited for his father to leave and return to his room.

He stood patiently by the door as his father walked out of the room. He was angry. Sherlock hated it when he got angry. He was always his punch bag. He walked up the stairs, hands deep in his dressing gown's pockets with frustration.

When Sherlock heard his door close, let out his breath and walked back to his room.

_Who were those men? Why did his father need protection? Who wanted to kill him? Why did they want to kill him?_

The questions floated around in his mind but his mind refused to answer them, _couldn't_ answer them. He hated not knowing the answers. He hated being confused.

He returned to his bed and closed his eyes. He presumed his mind was just tired and worn out. He would tackle this problem in the morning.

For now, all he could work out is why his father had a gun in his bedside table. It was for killing his killer before he was killed himself.

God knows how many men have been killed with that weapon. All Sherlock knew was that _he_ had touched it. If any further investigations happened, his print was on that gun.

He needed to get rid of it.


	27. Answers

**Next chapter for all you lovely readers :) by the way, if you like harry potter, doctor who and sherlock, check out 13tash07's story _'Of Time Lords, Detectives, and Philosopher Stones'_ which she's finished and the sequel which she's writing at the moment _'Of Time Lord, Detectives and Chambers of Secrets'_ both really good reads, great story lines, great characters. All in all a brilliant fic. Better than anything I could write! But seriously take some time to read them, they're fantastic.**

* * *

**Answers**

Sherlock was stumped. This had never happened before. He had no idea what his father had done to need 'protection'. He only had one option left...

_Mycroft._

He didn't want to, but he had to. It was the only way he could find the answers he was looking for. He knocked on his brother's door and waited until he could enter.

"Sherlock?" his brother sounded confused. Mycroft wasn't used to his brother going to see him. Usually he would have to invade his brother's privacy just to say hello.

"Mycroft." Sherlock said. He didn't know what to say.

Mycroft saw the doubt in his brother's eyes. He hadn't seen that in many years. Something was definitely wrong. "Sherlock what's wrong?"

Sherlock scratched the back of his head, an unconscious gesture due to his discomfort. He hadn't asked his brother for help since he was 5 years old. 8 years later, Sherlock was unsure how to approach the matter. Eventually he said "Why does father need protection?"

Mycroft was quite surprised at how directly he said it but didn't mind. He had come to _him_ for help. He could see the small curly haired boy from his childhood again, not a moody teenager. He felt a strange but nice warmth in his heart.

"Sherlock," he took the matter very delicately. He was in fact aware of the protection his father required and why he needed it. He wasn't aware his brother knew anything about it. "How do you know about this?"

Sherlock shifted awkwardly forward. "I heard father talking to some men downstairs a few nights ago. They threatened him."

Mycroft nodded knowingly. He knew about father's secret meetings in the middle of the night. He had overheard them many times and decided to face his father about the matter. Being the favourite son and being old enough to understand meant his father told him everything. The fact Mycroft now 'worked in government' was also a contributing factor as he could have found out about it anyway.

"Our father did not always have the money he has now. He made it through business."

"I know. He borrowed money to get where he is now. I thought he paid it all back."

"He did." he stood and walked over to his brother. "However, he didn't necessarily get the money from good people. He was turned down by the banks. He had to resort to other people to get it." he paused to see if his brother was following. After Sherlock made no comment, he continued. "Father got the money, used it, paid it back and then demanded more. They denied him of it, he became angry and so he told the police about their organisation."

"Well that was stupid." said Sherlock bluntly.

"Indeed so. The police moved in, arrested their boss and he was sent to jail for 20 years. In the meantime they allocated a new man to run the scheme and they soon found out father was involved."

"20 years? Doesn't that mean he'd be out by now?"

"Yes, he was released a couple of years ago. Since then they have tried to get to our father on numerous occasions. By the time father had become very high up in business, they had tried to assassinate him. Father, however, killed the assassin before he killed him, using his money and power to cover it up. Ever since, he has had many attempts to assassinate him but he has survived them all."

"Because he paid for protection. And he's been late on payments. That's why they threatened him too."

Mycroft nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"Revenge is such a predictable motive."

He smiled. "Yes."

Sherlock put his hands deep in his pockets and looked at the wall as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world. "Thanks..." he mumbled.

"You're welcome." Mycroft said with a smile and then waved towards a pile of books in the corner. "I was just going through some of my old things. There are some old books over there if you want them."

Sherlock turned and walked over to the pile of books. He read the titles quickly and picked up a few he thought could be quite interesting before nodding to his brother and walking towards the door. He stopped as he heard his brother's voice again.

"Sherlock," Mycroft said to get his attention. His brother stopped walking but did not turn around. "I was going to visit Jonathan's grave this afternoon. Would you like me to take you?"

Sherlock stiffened at his name. He was still upset over the death of the old butler and had missed writing to him dearly. He nodded before closing the door behind him.

He dumped the books in his room before walking into his parent's room. Luckily there were neither cleaners nor his parents in sight so he walked over to his father's bedside table and found it was locked. This wasn't a problem for he just picked the lock quickly before opening the drawer and taking out the gun with a cloth. He noticed it had been fully reloaded from his antics. He carefully rubbed the cold metal object with the cloth, removing his prints from it. Although it had been a long time since he had touched it, it was better to be safe than sorry.

He placed the gun in the same position as he had found it and closed the drawer. He walked out and sneaked back into his room.

* * *

A few hours later, Sherlock was sitting alongside his brother in his car. They sat in their usual silence as they drew up to the graveyard. The last time they had been here was for Jonathan's funeral.

Mycroft turned off the engine and got out of the car. He shut the door and walked over to the other side, only to find his brother still sat in the car. He opened the passenger door slowly and crouched down so he was eye level with the sitting Sherlock.

His whole body was tense. His face seemed even paler, if that was even possible for such a pale boy. He was breathing heavily and unevenly, as if he was trying not to cry. He was grabbing the seat and didn't make eye contact with his brother.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft frowned. He had never seen his little brother so vulnerable, not since he was in a nappy. Sherlock turned his head and looked at his brother. Mycroft saw the innocence in his eyes.

"I can't do it Mycroft..." his voice was shaking. He hated how _weak_ he was sounding. He hated how _weak_ he looked. However, he felt strangely safe being able to tell Mycroft these things, as if the trust he had in him all those years ago had returned for this one moment.

"It's okay." Mycroft said reassuringly. Sherlock had been much closer to Jonathan than him. He had been more of a second father to him than a butler. Mycroft knew he had cared more about Sherlock than their real father did. He could understand why it was so hard for him. "It's fine if you're not ready."

"It's just..." Sherlock tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "I miss him, Mycroft..."

"I know." Mycroft carefully put a hand on his brother's shoulder, a gesture he remembered doing as a child to comfort him. "I'm going to go and see him. You can stay here and decide if you want to go. I'll be back in a short while."

Sherlock nodded and Mycroft stood. He closed the door and walked into the graveyard. Sherlock was putting his faith in him and it made him feel happy. Sherlock was opening up to him again. It made him more determined to fix everything that had happened over the last few years, to get that bond they once had as young children. He didn't want to let him down again.

"I'm going to look after him Jonathan." he said to the grey headstone "For you, for me and most importantly for him. He's growing up. He's not that innocent child anymore..."

* * *

Sherlock sat in the car, waiting for his brother's return. He didn't know why he told his brother those things. He didn't know why he had gone to Mycroft for answers. He just knew it felt like the right thing to do.

What he didn't understand was how different his brother had been today. He was being _kind_ and _understanding_, not the cold, mocking man he knew oh too well.

He took some deep breaths and composed himself. He hadn't expected his body and emotions to react so badly to coming here. He thought he would be able to handle his emotions, he usually could.

He _always_ could.

But not today.

Something about this place made him feel different. It was as if all the joy in the world was just sucked up and a dark empty feeling was all that remained. The thought of it scared him.

He saw his brother walk up towards the car.

Sherlock shook his head slightly to try and straighten up his thoughts. He rubbed his hands down his face and sniffed loudly. He let out a final deep breath before regaining his composure.

Mycroft opened his own door on the driver's side and sat in the car.

"Did you want to see him?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock coughed awkwardly before saying "Yes, of course I do, why wouldn't I?" in his usual voice.

Mycroft turned to the teenage boy next to him and immediately recognised the emotionless mask he had put on. He sighed as Sherlock got out the car and began to walk down the path towards the grave. His brother's usual behaviour had returned, and just as he had started to come out of his shell...

* * *

Sherlock stopped in front of Jonathan's grave and read the words.

_In loving memory of Jonathan Keynes_

_A dedicated Husband, Father and Grandfather…_

Sherlock couldn't finish reading it. He took a deep breath.

"_Why_ did you have to go Jonathan?" his voice broke. He had almost immediately lost his composure upon arrival.

He sat down on the ground and just looked at the grave and the dirt around it. A few tears silently fell down his cheeks. He didn't make an effort to wipe them away; he just let them fall to his chin, then the dirt beneath him.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but after a while it began to rain. He looked up at the sky and let the water fall on his skin. His hair stuck to his forehead and he felt the water coming to contact with his skin through his clothes. He couldn't tell whether it was rainwater on his face or in fact tears.

He stood and walked back to the car. He stepped inside to find his brother still waiting patiently for him. Mycroft looked at him briefly before starting the car and taking them back to their so called home.


	28. Roomie

**Here's the roommate you've all been waiting for :) enjoy...**

**ITrustThyLove: I hadn't really thought about it to be honest :/ if you have any ideas be sure to tell me and I could add them in :) Also I don't know how long I'll make it. I'm not sure how long I'm going to do it for, whether it be until he leaves school or right up until he meets John. Some people have already asked me to do it until John but I don't know much bout university and stuff so I dunno :) AllI know is that I think it'll be around 50 chapters until he leaves school, maybe more.**

* * *

**Rommie**

Sherlock received his results.

All A*s for his GCSEs, how predictable. All As for his AS exams, all with top marks.

Mycroft bought him the latest blackberry as a 'well done present'. He strangely liked it. It was lightweight and did all the functions he wanted it to. It also fitted in his school blazer pocket perfectly and was almost undetectable. He had silently thanked his brother for the gift before setting off, back to Marina boarding school to start his third year.

He had left earlier this year, hoping to avoid the mad rush of students. He also wanted to make sure he got to his new dorm room before him new roommate. He immediately saw the benefit as they approached the building. The place was basically deserted.

Sherlock took out his case and said goodbye to his driver. He walked towards the main entrance and opened the door, only to find a few students already lining up to find out their new rooms. He joined and discovered he was standing behind none other than little Molly Hooper.

"Hey Sherlock!" she said with a gleam in her eye "Have a nice summer?"

"It was tolerable I suppose." was his response.

"Oh... Mine was quite boring too..."

They stood in an awkward silence before Molly collected her key and said goodbye. When Sherlock reached the desk he noticed there was a new member of staff there, rather than the grumpy middle aged woman, who constantly complained about her failure of a marriage.

No, there was a young, naturally blonde woman, no later than 22. She gave him a broad smile before speaking.

"Name?" she asked cheerily. Well her happiness wouldn't last long after having to give over 700 moody students their key.

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Oh, that's a cool name. You're never going to meet someone else with that one."

_Sherlock looked her up and down once. Young, recently out of university, probably got this job just to get a steady income, job was a personal favour, probably family member, slight resemblance to Mr Crey, eldest daughter, he recognised her from the photo on the desk he had been to many times. Probably has a very common name, something like Hannah or Alice, after her reaction to his name. Perfectly manicured nails, designer perfume and watch, probably still lived with her father and used the money to buy luxuries. Tanned skin, natural, didn't go abroad on holiday but visited somewhere further south than Summerset, probably somewhere in Kent, sunbathed rather a lot, nothing better to do. Keeps touching a necklace around her neck, probably a gift from a boyfriend but they recently split up, not her choice, keeps fiddling with the latch, as if unsure whether to keep it on or take it off, still wants him back but he cheated on her with someone close to her, best friend?_

"No." he said as she passed him his key. He couldn't resist the urge... "Have a nice time in Kent?"

A confused smile played at her lips. "Wha... How did you..."

"Well obviously not after you found your boyfriend cheated on you and ran off with your best friend... Not a very happy holiday... Anyway, nice to meet you Miss Crey."

He smirked at her surprised expression and turned on his heel to walk to his dorm room. Oh how he _loved_ new people's reactions.

He walked to his dorm room, first floor number 12. He put his case on the bed closest to the window and unpacked his belongings. Sherlock opened the window and took out a cigarette. He had been waiting to have one for a while. He didn't care if his roommate would judge him, they probably had already.

To everyone else he was just the 'freakish stalker fag'. _How immature_.

He took a long drag on the cigarette as he sat on the windowsill. He nodded in appreciation of the nicotine rushing through him. He made the most of the tobacco, making sure he didn't waste the last of it.

When he was nearly finished, he heard his door be unlocked from the outside.

_Here we go..._

He threw the butt out the window as the door opened. He turned and looked at who he would be sharing his room with for the next year.

In walked James Butler. He was one of the popular crowd. He had never really spoken to Sherlock before, but he had never been spiteful toward him. He wasn't really sure what to make of him.

"Sherlock Holmes, right?" James said and he slumped his bag from his shoulder onto the remaining bed. He unzipped it and began unpacking.

"James." he said with a short nod.

"I guess we're roommates then."

"Indeed so."

Sherlock jumped down from the windowsill and gracefully landed on the floor. He smirked when he saw James notice the skull on his desk.

"You have a...skull"

"Problem?"

James didn't reply, just chuckled lightly. "You play the violin?" he indicated towards the case lying on Sherlock's bed.

"Helps me think." Sherlock replied bluntly.

There was another awkward silence.

"I heard you could tell someone's life story from a quick glance. Is that true?"

"In some cases."

"What can you tell about me?"

"I can tell you have a widowed mother whom you are very close to, you have a good reputation, you care about your appearance, you have a large white dog, you had a summer romance and you did not go abroad on holiday this year."

"And how did you know that?" James said as he folded his arms, taking his attention away from his unpacking.

"You were wearing a hoodie." Sherlock replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"My hoodie?"

"Yes your hoodie." Sherlock walked over and picked it up. "The zip is hardly worn and the strings in the hood are pristinely clean. It can't be cleaned that well, there is always a slight line of dirt showing where it usually enters the clothing; this one does not so it's new, very new. Looking at the pattern and colour, it is very different to your other hoodies, which you have been putting away, so it's a gift. Also pretty clear your mother bought it for you. Clear she is a widow, a father would have stopped her from giving it to you to try and maintain his son's reputation, unless it was an unhappy marriage which it clearly was not judging by the photo you have just put on your desk of the two together when you were around the age of 5 judging from the camera height. You wore it for the journey to please her, but you took it off when you got here so you were not to be embarrassed by the hideous pattern on the back. Just being seen with it could ruin your reputation so you stuffed it into your back quickly. '_How do you know I put it in my bag?_' you may ask. All your other belongings are folded neatly so they would not require ironing again, this hoodie has been stuffed in the top, creases all over it. The dog is obvious. It is covered in long white hairs, so large dog to be able to reach when you said goodbye this morning. The lack of holiday? Well your other hoodies are well worn, latest styles so you bought them yourself at the beginning of summer. The weather this summer has been dreadful so you have worn them a lot but not this certain hoodie due to your dislike towards it. If you went abroad on holiday you would have kept your hoodies in a much better condition and you lack a strong tan; your only tan being around your wrists and neck from where you've caught the sun but it was not hot enough to lose the hoodie. There is still the slight smell of a girl's body spray or perfume on your clothing but she broke it off, judging by the way you keep checking your phone, as if to expect a sudden call or text from her. I highly doubt it." Sherlock said quickly.

"I can see why they call you a stalker now." said James before grinning. "How did you do that?"

Sherlock frowned. "I observed. I did not stalk."

James nodded. "Well it's a talent, I'll give you that."

"Hm." Sherlock said before taking out his new phone to find a text from Mycroft.

_Call me when convenient - MH_

Sherlock rolled his eyes and text back

_I prefer to text, you know that – SH_

Almost instantly his phone rang.

"Mycroft"

"Sherlock. How's school?"

"You know I've only been here half an hour."

"Yes... Is your roommate okay? You didn't end up with someone who bullies you?"

"They don't bully me." He said through gritted teeth. He would _never_ admit defeat.

"If you say so brother. But is your roommate adequate? I can easily make the school change them if you're unhappy."

"He's fine; just don't offer him money to spy on me."

"No I have someone much more subtle than that."

"Oh really? Who?"

"I'll leave you to your deductions."

Sherlock smiled slightly. "Game on. I'll have sent you a message by the end of the day."

He heard Mycroft laugh down the line. "How do you even know if you'll see them today?"

"Well then, they're not in my maths, physics, German or history lessons then. That helps narrow it down."

"Yes, well, good luck this year brother. I hope it shall be better than your last."

"Later Mycroft." He said before hanging up the phone.

Sherlock and his brother had become much closer over the summer. Sherlock suddenly felt as if he could trust him again after he explained their father's situation and how he had taken him to see Jonathan. If he hadn't have made that trip, he would have still be deeply grieving, but he was beginning to accept the fact he had moved on. He had said goodbye, all thanks to Mycroft.

"Who was that then?" James asked as he put away the last of his things.

"Brother." said Sherlock bluntly.

"You're lucky; I only have a little sister. She's all into pink and unicorns" he laughed.

"Hm."

James checked his watch. "Right well I'd better be off. Going to go see the guys before heading off to assembly. See you there."

"I highly doubt it. Assemblies are tedious."

James laughed "Alright see you later roomie." He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Sherlock frowned.

'_Roomie'? What kind of a name was 'roomie'? A tacky one, that's what._

Sherlock quickly walked over to the violin case on his bed and took it out. He delicately plucked the strings and twisted the knobs on the neck, tuning it to precision. He had been playing for so long he knew how it sounded when it was perfectly in tune. He closed his eyes as he placed the beautiful wooden instrument on his shoulder. He placed the bow gently on the strings and began to play.

It was a relatively long piece but he had it locked away in his memory. He found that many people found this certain piece very challenging, but he just played and it somehow worked. He would make small changes to make it sound like something more interesting. He had often wondered if he should compose some of his own music…

* * *

He didn't realize how long he had been playing for until James and a couple of his friends returned to the dorm room. He ignored their entrance and continued to play, staring out the window at the now relatively heavy rain. He frowned as he saw Anderson cornering a first year.

_Power battle. He was trying to gain dominance. How pitiful._

Sherlock quickly put down his violin on his bed and grabbed his coat.

"You're good." Said James.

Sherlock nodded before rushing out the door. If Anderson was trying to get a reputation, he was sure to try and ruin it.

"Oh Anderson, are you really so low as to beat up first years, just to look '_good_'" he said as he reached the boy towering over a short first year boy.

"They need to know their place."

"So beating up a little boy, half your height, in the first year, with asthma and a bad knee, in front of no one will boost your reputation will it?"

"Shut up freak."

The little boy looked up at the older boys. Sherlock frowned slightly. "No Tim?"

"Why would you care?"

"I don't." He smirked "So he finally realised what a dick you are."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't." He said sarcastically. Anderson made a lunge for him but Sherlock's reflexes got the better of him and he quickly pinned him against the wall. All those years of people beating him up had given him better reflexes and hand to eye coordination than most people. "Anger management still not going well then?"

"Let me go freak!"

Sherlock smirked and let him go. Anderson glared at him before grabbing his bag and running off.

The little boy in the first year quietly thanked him before running off, now terrified of everyone in a higher year than him. Sherlock hadn't meant to help him; he just wanted to humiliate Anderson, which he believed he had successfully accomplished.

He made his way back up to his dorm room, now dripping wet from the rain. When he stepped inside and slammed the door behind him, he instinctively took off his coat and threw it on the floor, expecting his armchair to be there, and then he remembered he now shared a room. He turned to see James and his friends giving him a confused look.

"There was an armchair there last year." He explained as if it was the most normal thing to do in the world, before sitting at his desk and opening one of the new textbooks Mycroft had given him, ignoring the coat on the floor. He would pick it up later.

For now he would read until he went to lessons, deciding it would be quite entertaining to see the teacher's reactions to his return.

But first, he saw James' friend looking at him, as if trying to remember something. He smirked and pulled out his phone.

_Billy Newton. – SH _

_That was faster than expected – MH_

_You should never know what to expect when it comes to me brother dear – SH_

_Indeed – MH _

"Sorry Billy." Sherlock said as he put his phone away.

"Huh?" he sounded confused.

"Next time my brother asks you to spy on me, tell me first and you can keep the money. I just lost you £100"


	29. Riddles

**Riddles**

Sherlock cleared away the remnants of another failed experiment. At least this didn't explode or 'accidentally' set fire to the pet hamster kept in the labs. But rather than return to his dorm room, he decided to do another quick one. He knew the result but it was a nice little experiment.

He got out some potassium and a trough of water. He placed a small lump of the potassium on the water and watched as the metal danced on the surface, giving out a bright lilac light. It was almost hypnotic. Once it had finished, he put on a larger lump, a _much_ larger lump. He had to step back suddenly from the bright flame, now covering half the water. He almost laughed as it darted around the surface.

Eventually it ended, luckily not causing too much damage so Sherlock put his things away before leaving. He threw his bag on his shoulder and made his way towards the dorm, casually passing Mr Crey in the corridor when he was supposed to be in lessons.

"Sherlock." He said in a warning tone as he folded his arms.

"What? I've done a GCSE in English and I'm doing the AS exam this year. I don't see why I should attend a pointless lesson where I'm not going to learn anything."

Mr Crey shook his head. "You're just wasting your parents' money."

"Good." Sherlock replied bluntly before breaking out into his usual pace back towards the dorms.

He looked at his watch. Lessons would be ending for the day in 15 minutes. He would have just enough time to have a cigarette before James would come back. Last time he was smoking in their room, James had grabbed his half finished cigarette and thrown it out the window.

"_What did you do that for?" Sherlock frowned._

"_For a start, smoking's bad for you, and I don't want my dorm room stinking of smoke for the next few days." James said._

"_I had the window open."_

"_Yes but still."_

_Sherlock sighed "Don't tell Mycroft."_

"_Only if you don't do it in here again. How long have you known?"_

"_That he was paying you? Since the beginning. It was obvious he'd already paid my roommate."_

_James nodded knowingly. "Don't tell Mycroft." He smiled. "I could do with the extra money."_

"_Deal."_

Sherlock opened the window and lit his cigarette, making sure to get as little smoke in the room as possible. If James did smell any, he could easily say it was from his clothes from where he went outside. James was no where near as observant as him so he could be easily fooled.

James was alright. He didn't rat him out to his brother (well not too much anyway) and he didn't pick on him or call him names. He seemed a decent enough guy. His friends were different though. They called him fag and constantly told James to get a new roommate. They thought he would attack their friend in the night. James knew this wasn't true. Sherlock was just different and they didn't understand that. James had managed to stop them having a go at Sherlock but that didn't stop them from calling him names. He tried to go to their rooms rather than his own as often as possible, to try and stop them bothering Sherlock. Of course Sherlock was aware of him doing this, but he knew he only did it because of his high morals and Mycroft was paying him, not because they were friends.

Sherlock quickly finished his cigarette before he threw the filter out the window. Luckily James hadn't returned yet. He had probably gone to one of his friends' dorms, as usual. He didn't mind. He liked spending time alone.

He took out his microscope and looked at various things. He only looked up when James came in.

"Hey Sherlock." He said cheerily as he fell onto his bed.

"James." was Sherlock's usual greeting.

"How are you with riddles?"

"Riddles are boring."

"Yeah but are you any good at them?"

Sherlock turned and looked at him. "Why?"

"Our English teacher gave us a list of 20 riddles. The first person to answer them all correctly gets a £20 HMV voucher."

"You don't need the voucher, you have my brother." Said Sherlock as he turned back to the microscope.

James laughed lightly. "I'm saving up for a new laptop."

"Understandable looking at the state of your old one. The amount of times I've used it and it just crashes-"

"Wait, you used my laptop?"

"Mine was on the desk."

"It has a password."

"A _predictable_ password..."

James sighed. "Right, okay. Anyway, I've got them all pretty much sussed apart from a few."

"Who said I'd help you?"

"I did, or I'll tell your brother about the smoking."

Sherlock sighed. "Fine. Go on then." He kept his attention on the microscope in front of him.

"Brilliant, right, okay..." he rummaged through his bag before getting a scrunched up piece of paper. "Here we go." His eyes scanned the paper to find one he hadn't already answered. "I crawl on the earth and rise on a pillar?"

"A shadow." Sherlock said bluntly. That was easy.

"Oh yeah..." he quickly scribbled down the answer. "Next one, I'm sometime white and always wrong. I can break a heart-"

"A lie." Sherlock interrupted.

"You haven't heard the rest of it yet-"

"Yet I still know what it is. Carry on."

James wrote down the answer before moving on. "I dig out tiny caves and store silver and gold in them. I also build bridges of silver and make crowns of gold-"

"Dentist."

"That makes no sense."

"Yes it does. Tiny caves filled with silver and gold, fillings. Bridges of silver and crowns of gold, braces. It's obvious. Riddles are so tedious..."

"What goes up when the rain comes down?"

Sherlock smirked. _Mycroft would know this one... _"An umbrella."

"Of course…" he scribbled the last answer down on the paper. "Brilliant, that's all of them. I'm gunna go hand this in. Cheers." He stood and gave Sherlock a friendly pat on the shoulder, only causing Sherlock to flinch. James frowned. He wasn't going to hurt him.

Sherlock stopped himself from slapping himself in the face. He was being stupid. _Why did he flinch?_ It was just a natural reflex to human contact. The only contact he usually received was a slap or punch. No one had ever tried to be friendly towards him before. He wasn't used to it. Human interaction to him usually ended up with him needing medical attention, which he ended up doing himself most of the time. During his lifetime he had picked up what doctors and nurses do to treat his wounds. It was relatively simple really.

"Hm." Sherlock changed the slide, pretending as if he had never flinched at the contact. He did not want to appear any weaker.

James nodded with a worried expression on his face but then quickly left to hand in his answers.

* * *

Sherlock was reading the A level text book he already knew for his exam in the summer when James returned. He jumped on his bed, folding his arms contently.

"I think I've won that."

"Hm."

"You're a strange one Sherlock." When Sherlock made no reply, just glanced at him momentarily to frown at him, James continued "I mean you can talk for England when you want to but other times you're so quiet."

"That's because most the time I'm not interested in what people have to say. Problem?"

"No." James shifted awkwardly. "You're never going to get anyone else like you Sherlock. You are quite unique."

"So I've heard..."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. James looked up at Sherlock who was ignoring it.

"I'll get it then shall I?"

"It's statistically more likely to be for you. Anyway I'm busy."

"Reading?"

"Yes." Sherlock turned the page.

James sighed before getting up and walking towards the door. He opened the door and a broad smile spread across his face.

"Hey Molly! What are you doing here?"

"Hi James. Hi Sherlock..." she looked over to the boy, laying on his back reading.

"Molly." Sherlock said disinterestedly. _God, what did she want now?_

"I er, I went to see Dr Webber about my chemistry homework and he, erm, said you left this..." she held up his blue scarf. He must have left it there when he was doing experiments earlier. He flicked his eyes to her then back to his book quickly. He held up his hand without moving his eyes away from the page he was currently reading. Molly hesitantly walked over to the tall boy. She gently placed the fabric in his outstretched hand before he quickly moved it to his lap.

"Thank you." He said.

She laughed quietly for a second and smiled shyly before moving back towards the door. "No problem…"

"Are you going to the party on Saturday?" James suddenly asked her as she was leaving.

"Oh, I wasn't planning to..."

"Come on it'll be fun." He smiled.

Molly looked over to Sherlock for a split second before turning back to James. "Okay." She smiled back.

"Great. See you tomorrow."

"Okay. See you later. Bye Sherlock..."

"Yeah." Sherlock responded.

She quietly left the room. James turned to Sherlock.

"Right I'm off to Billy's. I'll be back before curfew."

"Hm."

Sherlock waited for him to leave before putting down his book and picking up his scarf. He had nearly lost it. _Stupid_. He held the fabric to his face and took a deep breath. This was all he had of Jonathan.

He closed his eyes and put the scarf on, even though he was warm enough as it was. He did not understand sentiment, but he guessed this was as close as he was ever going to get to it.


	30. Drugs

**Emicatt: Don't worry the hamster survived! Just a bit tinged…**

**Theangelsarecoming: why thank you :)**

**ITrustThyLove: I like it! I'll add that in in later chapters :) cheers! (I'll give you credit don't worry). Also I was kinda going for James as a character similar to John but obviously not the same. And the teachers are a bunch of dicks so didn't care/know. **

* * *

**Drugs**

James won the voucher, of course. Sherlock wasn't surprised when he had decided to go to the nearest town to spend it on the first weekend with his friends. When he returned from his trip, Sherlock was sitting on the windowsill eating an apple, just staring into the distance, as if he wasn't wholly there.

"Sherlock?" James asked wearily.

"Shh." Sherlock frowned and took another bite of his apple.

"What are you doing?"

"Mind palace now shut up."

James rolled his eyes. His strange roommate's behaviour had nothing to do with him, but at least he was eating. He texted Mycroft the latest news.

_He's eating an apple so at least he's not starving himself again. Also rambling about a mind palace?_

_It's a memory technique he uses – MH_

James frowned and looked at the boy on the windowsill. He was so strange.

Seeing as Sherlock wasn't going to be doing much, James put away his phone and decided to have a shower.

* * *

When he emerged from the bathroom, he saw Sherlock still sitting on the windowsill but the apple had been eaten down to the core and thrown in the bin. Sherlock turned his head slightly at the other boy, his way of saying _'yes I'm back to reality now'._ Sherlock looked him up and down once before rolling his eyes.

"You're going to ask out Molly Hooper later." Sherlock said bluntly.

"What? How did you know that? Wait don't worry-"

Sherlock cut him off. "You just came back from town with your friends. You bought a new top which you are wearing now. There would be no point getting changed into a new set of clothes in the late afternoon unless you were going out in the evening. So you're going out to try and impress someone, suggesting by the amount of gel in your hair and the body spray you've used.

"How do you know it's Molly?"

"Simple, you bought some CDs on your trip using your voucher but you bought another one, different type of music to the others."

"How do you know what CDs I bought? Maybe I like that band too."

"Your receipt is sticking out of your pocket. Now let me finish." He frowned slightly at the interruption. "Molly is a huge fan of that band; she had stickers of them on her planner and posters of them on her wall. I saw them on the first day when I was next to her in the line before you ask so no, I _haven't_ somehow been in her dorm room." Sherlock said as he saw James' mouth open a fraction. He quickly snapped it shut. "She always carries her planner around because she's always busy doing some kind of extracurricular activity. So your either going to play it at some point to impress her or give it to her."

"Well yeah."

Sherlock smirked. "She'll say yes."

"You think?"

"I know. She wouldn't say no to the most popular boy in the year above."

James smiled. "Cheers Sherlock."

"For what?" Sherlock gave a confused frown.

"Doesn't matter."

Before Sherlock could reply, there was a knock at the door. James stood and answered it.

"Alright Tim?" he greeted.

Sherlock looked up and gave the visitor a cold glare.

"Hey James." He turned to the other boy living in the dorm before looking back at his friend. "You still share with the fag then?"

"Sherlock's alright, Tim. Leave off."

"Just trying to help you mate. He can't be trusted. I'd move if I were you. I've learnt from experience."

"I see you've left Anderson." Sherlock said as he got out a book from the bookshelf.

"Why would you care freak?"

"I don't."

"Whatever." Tim turned back to his friend "You coming?"

"Yeah. See you later Sherlock."

"Hm." He opened his book and began reading, not looking at the pair in the doorway. James quickly grabbed his hoodie before closing the door behind him. Sherlock stopped reading and looked at the door. He hadn't realised James and Tim were friends. Yet another face he would have to continue seeing in his dorm room. _Great._

* * *

Molly had agreed to going out with James so she was often in their room, though it was obvious her attention was not on her boyfriend. Sherlock had caught her looking at him many times, ending up in her blushing. James thought she was blushing at the compliments he was always sending her way but he was oblivious that she was staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock had been in contact with Andy recently. He was trying new drugs everyday. James had gone home for Christmas so no one was aware of his sudden drug frenzy, including Mycroft. He was trying new drugs everyday. Cannabis, ecstasy, cocaine. The list went on, but heroin was by far his favourite.

He liked the temporary relief they gave him from his hectic mind. While his mind was usually moving at 100mph, it slowed down with the drugs. It made him feel more normal, even though he knew he was far from ever being that.

Being different wasn't a bad thing in Sherlock's opinion. It made him feel like he had an advantage. He was unpredictable. _Normal_ people were so dull. They never did anything interesting. They just lived their day to day lives without any excitement. They followed routines. Sherlock didn't. He would only follow his lesson timetable if he was really that bored, but would walk out of the lesson after 5 minutes on most occasions. _Everyone else was so dumb. Why couldn't they understand simple things?_

The only normal people Sherlock found remotely interesting were those who came in on a scholarship. They had different backgrounds to most of the other students and had a slightly higher level of intelligence in the subject that gave them the scholarship. Watching them entertained him. Some tried to be clever, only to fail miserably. But others would be shy. He could see in their eyes that they knew the answer, but lacked the confidence to raise their hands. He figured they were intimidated by all the 'rich kids'. He always expected what the ordinary people would do. He was almost always right.

James had returned back from his Christmas holidays a week early, apparently to 'get back into the school routine'.

_Boring._

Unfortunately that would mean he would be in their dorm room for most of the time. Sherlock preferred to be alone. But no, he would have to put up with another 14 year old's presence.

What annoyed Sherlock most about this was the fact he couldn't take his drugs. He realised that he had started to get addicted. Well, not addicted exactly. He felt he needed them every now and again to relax, but he didn't _need _need them like an addict would.

However, he had learnt to control them. He didn't let them overwhelm him again. Not after what had happened after Jonathan's funeral. He almost shuddered from the memory. He would have deleted it but he kept it remind him of what happened if the drugs got out of hand.

What was he thinking? The drugs _had_ got out of hand.

"Sherlock!" James half shouted, tearing Sherlock away from his thoughts. Sherlock turned to look at him with a small frown. "Finally..." James breathed.

"You're going out."

"Yeah, well done." He adjusted his watch strap before looking back up. "There's a party in the village. I'll be back late." He knew better than to ask Sherlock to go like he and Molly had before. The result was a disgusted look and a small lecture on how dull parties were and how it 'wasn't his thing'.

"And you're telling me this because?"

"So you know where I've gone."

"It was quite easy to deduce."

"Yes, well..." he shifted uncomfortably. "I'll see you later."

"Bye."

This was the opportunity he had been waiting for. As soon as he heard the door close, he jumped up and opened his wardrobe, opening the secret compartment he had made. He had made one in each of the rooms he had stayed in. They were extremely useful and had not yet been found.

He pulled out some heroin and quickly injected some into his arm. He had wanted this for ages. No, he had _needed_ this for ages. He closed his eyes contently, allowing the drugs to flow around his body, allowing it to consume him.

_More._

He needed more.

He picked up another needle and let it pierce his skin, allowing for the liquid to flow into his blood. He sighed, a dazed grin on his face.

He injected another. He didn't know what he was doing, but it felt good.

_It felt so good..._

_So nice..._

_So calming..._

_So relaxing..._

Sherlock began humming. He didn't know why. He just felt the need to emit a sound from his lips.

"You know Jonathan." He said suddenly. "If you really cared about me you wouldn't have died." He opened his eyes to frown at the skull. "What are you looking at?" he snapped at it.

He stood from the desk chair and fell forwards onto his bed. He started rambling. He didn't even make sense. He sat up suddenly on his bed. "Pi is 3. ..." He said as fast as he could; only stopping to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and fell back down.

He was so confused. His mind was more jumbled up than ever. It was as if someone had broken into his mind palace and mixed up the rooms to laugh at him. He gripped his hair and shook his head.

"Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!" he shouted to the empty room. He curled up into a ball.

He was shaking. It was strange.

He sat up on his bed and rested his head against the wall. He started singing. He hated singing but he did it, quietly to himself. Sherlock didn't even know how he knew the words. He didn't even recognise _what_ he was singing. The lyrics were probably stored somewhere in his head from where someone else had been playing it.

He started crying. He didn't know what was going on. He had lost all control. "Jonathan..." was all he could say between sobs. He felt pain in his heart. He missed him so much.

"This is what you've done to me!" he shouted "I've got nothing! _Nothing_!"

Eventually he stopped crying. He just sat there, staring into nothingness, muttering nonsense to the darkness.

He didn't know how long he was sat there for until James walked in.

"Sherlock?" There was concern in his voice. Then he saw the discarded syringes on the desk. He turned back to the dark haired boy, looking like he was about to lose consciousness any second.

"Shit!" James almost shouted before running over to Sherlock's side. He took out his mobile and dialled the only important number. "Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?" he said as the phone rang.

Sherlock turned his head to the side and appeared to be looking right through him, his eyes were glazed over, but not that usual missing element that Sherlock had. No, this was different. It was quite disturbing.

"Come on stay with me." Sherlock heard James' voice. His eyelids kept feeling so heavy. "Mycroft! It's Sherlock. Something's wrong..."

Sherlock didn't hear anything else as the darkness consumed him.

* * *

**Cliffhanger type thingy :) I know, I'm evil. Didn't really know how Sherlock would react when having a mental breakdown so this is as close as I could get really, bit OOC but I hope you enjoyed it. Well, enjoyed it as much as you can enjoy a mental breakdown… Anyway I'm rambling. Next chapter up Monday! :)**


	31. A Nasty Surprise

**Thanks for the really positive reviews and how much you guys now hate me for the cliff-hanger :') At least we had the f1 and the football for entertainment till today! (Don't actually know if you like them but oh well). But finally Monday is here so you can read what happens :) Enjoy! Love you all!**

**UnderneathTheBunker: Aw thank you! I'm glad you like it :) just now I feel the guilty urge to give you the money you missed out on for not going to work…**

**SpencerReidFan89: And here is more! Enjoy :D**

**Xxpinknovaxx: Thanks :D really nice to know I'm still holding on to people from the beginning :) **

**Anon: Don't worry! Monday is here now! Wooooo :) **

**BloodyRosie: I hate Sherlock on drugs too :( unfortunately it had to be done. Me like James too :) he's a bit like John and Lestrade mixed together in my opinion. Thanks once again! Smile.**

**ITrustThyLove: Mwuhahahahaaa. Yes I know, I'm evil ;) MONDAY IS HERE! Now you can read :) I know like nothing about drugs too so I'm just guessing :P But I'm glad you like it. To be honest I've completely forgotten his name too :L I cant remember for the life of me what it was. Oh well :P and yeah, little Molly Hooper. She is a funny one :P and thanks I did! Hope your weekend was fab too :)**

**Theangelsarecoming: As I've said before, I am pure evil. And apparently heartless as I've been told before. Meh, what me going to do? But no need to fear, Monday is here! Enjoy the next chapter :)**

**Anon: No need for you to wait long :) you're lucky not to suffer like everyone else over the weekend :P Thank you so so much! It makes my day to see people think I'm a talented writer :) to be honest I'm just a bored teenager writing a load of rants :P I'm glad you think I've got the characters right! YAAY :) Hope you like the next chapter :D**

* * *

**A Nasty Surprise**

Sherlock opened his eyes, only to be blinded by a bright white room. He closed them abruptly.

_What was going on?_

He took a deep breath. He tried to recall previous events in his mind. He was in his dorm room, James had gone out, he went to his wardrobe...

Then it hit him.

He had overdosed. He slowly opened his eyes again, lifting his arm to shield his eyes from the light. There were needles in his hand. He frowned slightly. He allowed his eyes to adjust to the light before looking around.

He was lying in a bed with metal bars at the side, there was the horrid smell of disinfectant and his clothes had been replaced by some ugly pyjamas. His arm was connected to a drip and a tube leading to his nose, helping him to breathe.

_Hospital._

He hated hospitals. They were so dull. There was never anything to do. He also couldn't do any experiments. He turned his head to the side to see his brother sitting there patiently.

"You've been out for 3 days Sherlock." He said. "Good to see you've decided to return to us."

"How did I get... Wait, James right?"

Mycroft nodded. "Yes he called." His expression hardened. "How long has this been going on for Sherlock?"

"How long has what been going on for?" Sherlock played dumb. He _really_ didn't want to have this conversation.

"You know exactly what I'm going on about Sherlock." His brother said sternly.

Sherlock sighed. He looked at his brother and sat up slightly. "For a little while."

"Jonathan's funeral?" Mycroft had believed that his brother had been under the influence of drugs then after his outburst.

Sherlock flinched slightly at the name. He had let him down. "Once before."

Mycroft nodded. "Drugs are never the answer Sherlock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes "They help."

"No they don't Sherlock. No matter what you think, drugs only make this worse in the end."

"They help me focus. They relax me. You don't know what it's like."

"I know only too well Sherlock. You're too clever for your own good."

Sherlock smirked. "Don't try and relate to me Mycroft. You know how different you are to me."

"Sherlock." He had turned on his warning tone "Stop trying to change the subject."

Sherlock sighed and slumped back into the bed. _That hadn't worked then..._

"I don't know what to say to you Sherlock, I really don't."

"Then don't say anything at all." Sherlock snapped.

"You risked your life. If James hadn't been there god knows what would have happened."

"If James _had_ been there" Sherlock corrected "none of this would have happened."

"How do I know you haven't overdosed before Sherlock?"

"I haven't. This was one small mistake."

"_Small_ mistake? Sherlock you could have died!" Mycroft shouted.

Sherlock frowned. He had never seen his brother act so out of character. Was he _concerned_? No he couldn't be. This was Mycroft.

Mycroft sighed. "I feel we have lost any trust we had between each other."

"There wasn't any in the first place." Sherlock said coldly.

They sat in an awkward silence. You could say you could cut the tension with a knife but of course Sherlock thought that phrase was ridiculous.

"Sherlock-"

"Oh what now?" he asked with frustration.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Your room has been searched."

"What did you do that for?"

"Why do you think?"

"Because you're a nosy git who wants to know everything about my life."

"No."

Sherlock made no reply; just gave him a disbelieving look.

"We have taken away your stash."

_Great,_ thought Sherlock, _now they've found my compartment... Going to have to find somewhere new to make one now..._

"Who's we?" Sherlock said after a moment's silence. "Oh no you haven't..."

"Mummy and father had to know of these events."

"No they didn't!" Sherlock shouted. Now they were going to kill him when he went home. They were going to be so angry... Father would be _so_ angry…

Mycroft took a deep breath before continuing. "They have to know; otherwise we cannot carry out the plan."

Sherlock was fed up and bored now. "The plan being what?"

Mycroft leant forward in his seat. "Sherlock, after much deliberation, our parents and I have decided to-"

"Oh God no. You can't!"

"-place you in a youth drug rehabilitation centre. Now I know-"

"No no no! _Please_ Mycroft!"

"I know you do not believe this will help you, but we are only doing what we think is best for you."

"You can't do this! I have rights!"

"Even if you do not want to go Sherlock, you're under 18, so we can still put you in against your will."

Sherlock glared at his brother. He took a different tactic. "Please?" he said as sadly and innocently as possible.

"No. You're going Sherlock and that's final. And don't try and use your acting skills on me. I can see right through them."

Sherlock frowned and huffed out a breath. He turned away from his brother and curled into ball. "Fuck off Mycroft."

"Language Sherlock."

"Does it look like I care?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "As soon as you've recovered here, you will be taken to the facility where you will stay until you are clean."

"I'll have a shower when I get there then."

"Sherlock." There was that bloody warning tone again.

"Leave me alone Mycroft. Go back to rising pointless taxes or whatever you do."

Mycroft stood, not bothering to retaliate against his now rather angry little brother. As he walked out the door he half smiled. _'Little' brother. He's not so little anymore._

Sherlock turned his head slightly when he heard the door close; making sure his brother was gone. He turned to the bedside table to see a single 'get well soon' card signed by Molly and James. They must have come to visit at some point during his three day long stay. He noticed a couple of books that they must have left for him to read. They were from a pile he had made in his room of 'to read' books. Maybe James had been more observant that he originally perceived...

He noticed the buzzer next to him and so picked it up and kept continuously pressing the button, getting the attention of the nurses. A plump middle aged nurse walked in with a slightly flushed expression, thinking it was an emergency.

Sherlock stopped buzzing when she walked in. "Pass me the books." He said bluntly.

"Is that it?" she asked "You're completely fine?"

"Yes now pass me the books."

She huffed angrily, moving over to the chair with the books on and passing them to the boy. "That buzzer is for emergencies only."

"It was an emergency. I was _dying_ of boredom."

She shook her head. "I'll send the doctor in now you're awake."

"No need, I'm fine."

"He'll be the judge of that." And with that, she walked out.

Sherlock opened the first book and began reading. He couldn't concentrate.

His stupid brother was sending him to rehab. _Bastard._

He heard a quick tap at the door before the doctor strode inside. "Mr Holmes. Good to see you're awake. I'm Dr Adams. How are you feeling?"

"Pissed off." Sherlock answered honestly.

The doctor chuckled lightly. "Yes this place does tend to have that effect. But that's not what I mean." He picked up the chart at the end of his bed and began scribbling down some notes.

"I'm fine. I already told the nurse." He hated repeating himself.

The doctor nodded and looked up at the boy on the bed. "Did you want anything to eat?"

"I'm not hungry."

Dr Adams saw how thin the boy was and frowned. "Are you sure? You've been fed through a tube for three days straight."

"That's nice."

"Mr Holmes I'm not asking anymore, you're going to eat something. If not now, you will eat something by the end of the day."

Sherlock smirked. "I'd like to see you try."

Dr Adams shook his head but had a small smile on his face. "You appear to be recovering well. We shouldn't have to keep you here very long."

"Good." Sherlock turned a page in his book before pausing and looking at the doctor. He suddenly remembered his brother was sending him to rehab. "On second thoughts, I'm not fine. I'm dying slowly inside."

The doctor chuckled. "Good try Mr Holmes." He walked over and felt his pulse while looking at his watch. He nodded to himself before writing on the chart again. He replaced it at the end of his bed. "I'll see you tomorrow Mr Holmes. I hope to hear you've eaten something." He pointed at him and gave him a mocking stern look. "Or else."

Dr Adams opened the door and walked out, leaving Sherlock alone in the room once again. He was going to have to get used to this. When he went to rehab they would probably rarely let him out of his room, only to go to counselling sessions.

It sounded so boring and pointless.


	32. Rehab

**You guys are like my best friends now okay? Everyday I'm getting something stupid like 20 new reviews and alerts and favourites. Seriously love you guys!**

**FullMoonPhoenixShadow: You're very welcome :) thanks for reading it!**

**SpencerReidFan89: I'm glad you think I'm getting Mycroft right :) I didn't really know how to approach his character but that's good if I'm getting him like you described :D**

**Anon: thanks! Don't worry, because I have literally no social life I give weekday daily updates so basically I update 5 times a week :)**

**Sherlockreader: Wow. I mean, just wow. Thank you! I seem to be having that effect on people… woo! :) You don't have to wait long though, only over the weekends! I have no idea how long I'll keep going, depends how long it'll take people to get bored I suppose. I wasn't planning on bringing in John to make it seem more like the real BBC Sherlock storyline (just in modern day) but I added in James instead as a kind of substitute. Hope that's okay!**

**BloodyRosie: God I know… Look out for that in the next chapter. I don't know what is going to happen in the future yet but I 'm sure you've seen BBC Sherlock and he has his bad days… smile.**

**ITrustThyLove: I hate his parents. They're so stupid and horrible. I wish I didn't have to write about them but I have to really :( but yeah rehab is going to carry on all week. Fun fun fun. I like Molly and James, they're like a nice break in Sherlock's usually horrid life. Sound's like fun :) I'm off for a BBQ today myself, only disappointing thing is I can't write for you guys :( oh well, I have all week :D**

* * *

**Rehab**

Sherlock was released from hospital 2 days later. He found he didn't want to leave, unlike last time. He didn't want to go to rehab. He didn't care if it was 'one of the best rehabilitation centres in Britain' as Mycroft kept repeating. He didn't want to be there and that was that.

When they approached the building Mycroft got out the car but Sherlock stayed put.

"Stop being so immature." Mycroft said as he tugged him out of his seat. Sherlock put up quite a fight; right up until Mycroft ordered 2 rather large men to get him out of the car. Trust Mycroft to bring bodyguards to make him go in.

"Now," His brother began "you can either walk in there like a man or be dragged in kicking and screaming. It's your choice."

Sherlock sighed grumpily. "Fine." He said and followed his brother towards the main door, before suddenly making a run for it in the opposite direction.

His freedom was short lived as the bodyguards caught up with him and dragged him back to the entrance.

"Mycroft you complete and utter dick!" he shouted as he was pushed inside.

"Yes yes brother, whatever you say." Mycroft replied in a bored tone.

Sherlock was thrust into a chair and kept trying to get up and run, only to be stopped by the large men and returned to the seat.

"Each time you run, you'll be brought right back again." Mycroft stated in monotone as he signed some forms at the desk, not even bothering to look up.

"No harm in trying." Sherlock folded his arms and scowled at his brother's back.

"That's what you think." He said as he signed his name and smiled at the receptionist. He turned to the bodyguards "Go stand by the door, if he runs, get him."

The two large men turned and walked towards the entrance. Mycroft turned back to his 14 year old brother, thinking this is the last place he should be. Sherlock should have been more like him. It would have got him much further in life already. But no, this was Sherlock and he wasn't going to change for anybody and the last thing he would want is to be like his brother.

Sherlock tapped his foot impatiently. "Why did you do this Mycroft?"

"You need help."

"I told you I can handle it. That night was a one off."

"But then how many other 'one offs' are there going to be Sherlock? This is for your own good. One day you might thank me."

"Keep dreaming on brother. I'll never forgive you for this." He snarled through gritted teeth.

"Goodbye Sherlock. Be good and you might get out earlier."

"Piss off." He said. Mycroft was about to leave until two Holmes brothers turned to see two men approach them, one looking like a doctor, the other seemed to be some kind of 'carer' or whatever they were called here.

"Mr Sherlock Holmes?" the doctor asked and looked down at the grumpy teenager on the chair.

"No that's him over there." He said and pointed behind the pair. They turned and Sherlock made one last break for freedom, only to forget about Mycroft's bodyguards.

He sighed as he was thrust back onto the chair. He folded his arms and frowned at the floor.

"Nice try Sherlock." Mycroft said with a smirk. "I trust you can handle the situation?" he asked the doctor.

"Of course we can, Mr Holmes." He said with a smile. "We'll continue this in your room, shall we Sherlock?"

Sherlock sighed and stood to follow the doctor. The carer put a hand on his shoulder to lead the way before Sherlock shook it off and glared at him.

Sherlock was lead down the corridor to his room. He hated it already.

* * *

Sherlock changed into the grey tracksuit bottoms and the white cotton top after giving the doctor and the carer much difficulty. He smirked as he remembered their angry expressions. If he was going to stay here he wasn't going to make it easy for them. He was going to have some _fun_.

After sitting in his room for an hour, planning an escape route, he heard the door click, meaning it was being unlocked. A young man, around the age of 27 walked in.

"Hello Sherlock."

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"I'm just here to introduce myself. I'm Doctor Weaver. I'm going to be your-"

"Psychiatrist." Sherlock finished with him.

"Yes." The man smiled. "Our first session isn't scheduled until tomorrow but I thought I'd meet you."

"You have. Now you can go." He said bluntly.

Dr Weaver smiled. "I can tell you don't want to be here."

"Who does?"

"You'd be surprised how many people chose to be here. You may be one of them at some point."

"I would never wish to be here. In fact I would rather be at home than be here."

"Unhappy home life?"

"Our session isn't till tomorrow you said."

"It isn't, but if something is wrong you can tell me."

"Stop trying to gain my trust."

"Alright, alright." He said. "I'll just leave you to it." He stood and put his hand on the door, waiting for it to be opened for him. "See you tomorrow." He said and strode out hands in pockets.

The door clicked closed behind him and Sherlock returned to looking at the ceiling.

* * *

"Sherlock you do realise if you just sit there ignoring me you'll end up staying even longer."

Sherlock frowned at the psychiatrist. He was really starting to get on his nerves.

"Fine we can sit here for the remaining half an hour in silence if that's what you want. Just remember each minute you waste, will gradually add up to spending even more time with me, meaning you'll have to spend even more time here. But of course that thought has already crossed your mind."

"How do you think you know what I'm thinking?" Sherlock said angrily. People don't understand him and they _never_ will. He didn't know why this man believed he could achieve what no one else could.

"Aha we have speech!" He mocked. Sherlock just scowled at him. "It's my job to try and think like you, to think about what will cross your mind."

"Go on then. What am I thinking about now?"

"I'm guessing something along the lines of 'why is this insufferable git trying to read my mind?'"

"No, I was trying to recall the square root of pi."

"1.772453851"

"Too late I already gave you your chance to guess."

The psychiatrist laughed. "Yes well that is the square root of pi."

"Well done." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"At least we're communicating now. Is there anything you want to talk about? Anything you want to get off your chest?"

Sherlock made no reply. He didn't want to spill anything to this man. He was only here to get paid, he didn't actually care. No one cared about him.

"Why don't we start with your family?"

"Boring."

"Really? Why do you say that?"

"It's a boring subject to talk about."

"Okay..." he scribbled something down on a piece of paper. "What about your friends? Do they know that you're here?"

"I don't do _friends_." He said.

"Why?"

"You like saying that, don't you?"

"It's so you can elaborate on your answers."

"I'm not writing some pointless English essay." The amount of times his English teachers have asked why always annoyed him. What was the _point_ in why? It was inevitable that he would take his essay and write over the teacher's comments and just write 'Why?' over and over when they had to redo an essay everyone failed. Well, everyone apart from Sherlock (of course) who just handed in his essay (with added 'Whys') again just to annoy her. That English teacher was a right bitch in his eyes.

"No, it's not."

Sherlock just looked at him with no expression, hoping he would just shut up.

"Let me make this as simple as possible for you. You're going through a very difficult ordeal. All I want to do is make you say 'I'm feeling great' when I ask how you are. I can see you're sad and angry."

"Don't dumb it down."

"I'm not trying to. I'm trying to make this as simple and easy as possible for you."

"Make it as complicated and hard as possible."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because this is _boring_."

"Well it's not supposed to be entertaining you Sherlock; it's supposed to help."

Sherlock scoffed. "How is _talking_ to me meant to help?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Oh would I?" He said with disgust and frustration.

Dr Weaver sighed "Right, I suppose that's enough for today. I'll add the extra time to our next session. Hopefully you'll be more ready to talk then."

"Keep on hoping."

"Don't forget you have a group session tomorrow."

The doctor rolled his eyes as he walked out the door, leaving Sherlock in peace.

Group session sounded rubbish. It would just be a bunch of stupid teenagers complaining about how crap their lives were so they started taking drugs. It would entertain him for about 5 minutes as he deduced their lives, some could have quite interesting backgrounds, but after that, it would be as boring as hell.

He needed to get out of here.


	33. Megan

**Sherlockreader: Same when I was writing it :P well you know what Sherlock's like! :)**

**13tash07: haha if only that exsisted :') **

**theangelsarecoming: thank you! And no problem :)**

**ITrustThyLove: Nope he really isn't :P Saw your review and added more in for your delight :D BBQ was great thanks and well done to your brother! Right, okay, Sherlock on drugs references… Basically it's written in Arthur Conan Doyle's books (or the ones I've read anyway :P), and in 'A Study in Pink' they do the drugs bust and John's all like 'you think he's a druggie? Look around I'm sure you'll find nothing in the flat' (well along the lines of that anyway) and then Sherlock's like 'you might want to shut up now', John: 'Really?' Sherlock: 'What?' John: 'You?' Sherlock: 'Shut up!"… then there's 'A Scandal in Belgravia' where they search the flat when Sherlock's at the morgue because it's a 'danger night'… and the last one I can think of off the top of my head is in 'The hounds of Baskerville' at the beginning- John: 'You're doing so well Sherlock, don't give up now.' Sherlock: 'I need some. Get me some.' John: 'we paid off everyone within a 2 mile radius to stop them selling anything to you' Sherlock: 'Whose stupid idea was that?' then he rattles on about lottery numbers and stuff while making a mess of the flat to see where Mrs Hudson and John had hidden them. Ta daaa :) hope that helped. (You may have noticed I watch Sherlock a bit too much…)**

**BloodyRosie: glad you enjoyed it :) I just thought the bodyguards would be very Mycroft :P**

**LogicAndWonderland: haha thank you!**

**Dana42: thanks :)**

* * *

**Megan**

There was that familiar click again. Someone was coming into his room. He hadn't left it since he arrived a few days ago. Two rather large men walked in wearing the rehab staff uniform, obviously there to try and stop him from running off like before.

He was to go to group therapy today. He was glad to leave his boring room, yet annoyed he had to go and listen to load of other people's problems. He felt he didn't even have a problem. Wait, no, he _knew_ he didn't have a problem. He didn't know why he was there.

The men took a firm grasp of his shoulders and walked him out the room. He shrugged off their hands in annoyance and shuffled forwards. He suddenly broke out into a run, remembering the route to the entrance. He ran past many different people, most of which did not even look up, as if this was a regular occurrence, which it was.

He was almost at the entrance when he felt one of the men chasing his leap and rugby tackle him to the floor. He struggled to get away but his grasp was like iron. Sherlock sighed in defeat. The other man lifted him to his feet and they resumed their original position, clasping his shoulders.

Sherlock continued to struggle against them the whole way, trying to make it as difficult for them as he possibly could. Eventually they dragged Sherlock to the room where the group session was currently taking place. Everyone in the room turned their heads to look at the sudden commotion.

"Let go of me!" he shouted at the men who were now forcing him into a seat. He smirked when he saw one limping out. That really was one powerful kick...

"Good for you to finally join us Sherlock." The plump doctor from his arrival said. _Sarcasm._ He didn't look very happy at all.

"I'm sure you were fine without me." Sherlock snapped back. He folded his arms.

The doctor frowned. "Please continue Donna." He said to a girl a couple of years older than Sherlock.

"Erm, yeah." She gave a half frightened look at Sherlock before continuing. "My name's Donna-"

"We already know that." Sherlock said impatiently, his knee bouncing up and down quickly in frustration and boredom.

"Sherlock." The doctor warned. "Why don't you introduce yourself?"

"You just did." He said bluntly.

"The point in this session is to connect to your fellow patients, to get to know them. You do this by talking to each other. Now, introduce yourself, if you please."

Sherlock sighed. "I'm Sherlock Holmes. I shouldn't be here. I'm going now." Sherlock stood from his seat and began walking towards the door, only to be returned to his chair by the two men he thought had left. Sherlock scowled at them as they retreated.

"Sherlock, you _have_ to attend these meetings. It all helps for your recovery."

"What recovery?"

The doctor sighed and walked over to him. He lowered his voice to an almost whisper. "I know you're still in denial about your drug taking Sherlock, but you're here to get clean. You can't do it without our help. Deep down, you know that."

Sherlock scoffed. "I can handle them. Why won't anyone believe me?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Right I think this is a good time to pair off." The doctor said suddenly as he turned away from Sherlock and returned to his seat.

The other teenagers in the room began forming pairs. Sherlock remained seated. He wasn't going to even try and make friends here. He failed to do so at school so why bother with a load of junkies?

He knew he was stereotyping again but he was above these people. It wasn't his fault that he could control his drug taking habits and they couldn't.

Eventually a girl around his age came and sat next to him.

"I don't want to talk." She said as soon as she sat down. "And I can tell you don't want to either so let's just leave it at that."

"Hm." Sherlock said in reply. _Thank god she didn't want to talk to him._

He scanned the room, looking at all the new faces and deduced what drug they had been taking to be here...

_Cocaine, cannabis, ecstasy, cocaine again, heroin, marijuana, sever alcoholic..._

And then there was himself, '_a heroin addict_' apparently. _Idiots_. He wasn't addicted. If he was addicted to anything, it would be the cigarettes and God he needed one now.

"Sherlock. Megan." The doctor addressed the sulking pair "You're supposed to be talking."

Sherlock opened his mouth to retaliate but was beaten to it by this 'Megan' girl.

"Maybe I don't want to talk. Maybe I think these sessions are pointless."

"Maybe you two shouldn't be paired together..." the doctor looked at them hesitantly.

"Too late." Sherlock huffed. The doctor looked at the pair again before walking off.

Megan took a glimpse of the strange boy sitting next to her. There was something different about him to these other people, something interesting. Her curiosity got the better of her.

"Why you here then?" she asked.

"I thought you said you didn't want to talk." He replied with annoyance. He frowned at her before sighing and answering her question. "Overdosed _once_ on heroin. My bastard of a brother signed me in."

"Ecstasy for me. Parents didn't know or care until it apparently got 'out of hand'."

When Sherlock made no reply, she spoke again.

"You're really not one for talking, are you?"

"Not to anyone _here_, no."

She smiled. "I know what you mean mate."

Sherlock gave her a look of disgust. "Don't think of yourself as being my '_mate'_." He snapped. His knee kept bouncing.

"Alright, alright." She said before sighing and continuing to look forwards.

Sherlock gave her a brief glance and deduced what he could.

_Rich background, not close to her family but still takes advantage of their money. Misbehaves to try and get attention from them, that's the only way she does. Older sibling, most likely sister, doesn't speak to her much, moved away from home a while ago so they lost contact. Parent's both accountants, very successful with their own business. Pricked skin on the end of her fingers, mildly diabetic. Her composure suggests she is self dependant and confident. Mixes with the wrong crowd at school. Yet another example of her rebellion for attention, though she would deny it as she is too proud. Then there was the obvious stuff, right handed, perfect 20/20 vision, her slightly husky voice shows that she was once a smoker, quarter Spanish looking at her skin tone and no pets._

Sherlock sat in silence for the rest of the session before he was dragged back to his room, not even bothering to try and escape again.

There was no point.

* * *

"Sherlock, for once can you please give me a straight answer?" Dr Weaver asked him as Sherlock laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"Depends what you define as straight..." he replied.

The doctor pinched the bridge his nose before continuing. "Why are you disagreeing to make friends?"

"Maybe I would if you didn't lock me up in my room all day." Sherlock lied. Even if he was allowed out, he would still prevent himself from becoming friends with anyone. No one would want to be friends with 'freak Holmes' anyway.

"What about the group sessions? I see you sit with Megan a lot... In fact you've sat with her for all three sessions you have attended."

"That's because she doesn't want to be here either."

"Have you ever thought about working together to try and help each other in your situations?"

Sherlock scoffed. "I'm too busy trying to plan my own escape route thank you very much."

Dr Weaver couldn't stop the small smile appearing on his lips. He knew the boy in front of him wasn't joking but it still humoured him. "Why don't you channel that energy into trying to get clean and get out of here? Rather than trying to get out, focus on accomplishing your goal."

"My _goal_ is to get out of here. The sooner the better."

The doctor paused for a second. "Focus on the goal you're supposed to be accomplishing."

"Which is?"

"To try and get over your addiction to-"

"For god's sake, I'm not addicted!" he shouted. Dr Weaver kept his poker face at Sherlock's sudden reaction. Sherlock could tell he dealt with people who believed they didn't have an addiction a lot, the main difference here being he was _not_ addicted.

Dr Weaver placed his pen and notebook on the table beside him and put his hands together, resting his arms on his thighs. He leant forward slightly before saying "I know this is hard for you Sherlock." In a calm, understanding voice "But the sooner you accept you have a problem, the easier it is to beat it."

Sherlock flicked his eyes down to the psychiatrist in front of him before returning his eyes to the ceiling. "How are you dealing with your father's death?" he said suddenly.

"Excuse me? How did you-"

"How did I know?" Sherlock sounded bored. At least his tactic to change the subject had worked. "Something's been on your mind, you haven't been able to keep your usual calm and collected persona, and you keep fidgeting uncomfortably in your chair, not giving off good body language like you're supposed to. You also have dark circles around your eyes from lack of sleep, along with your eyes still being slightly bloodshot from where you have been crying, most likely throughout the night and very recently, grown men don't cry without a strong reason, so a close family member's death. You keep touching your watch, it's old, very old, so belonged to a previous owner, clearly a male or you wouldn't be wearing it, you've only recently acquired it as the straps are adjusted to another sized wrist, not yours, however you didn't buy it, no one with your level of pay would be able to afford it so, judging by it's age, appearance and value, it would suggest it belonged to your father, given to you in his will," Sherlock scoffed. "Sentiment..." he muttered under his breath. He returned his voice to its usual volume "so clearly your father died very recently."

Sherlock smirked at the psychiatrist's stunned expression. The man slowly stood, picked up his things and left.

_Mission accomplished._


	34. Drenched

**Hello hello hello readers! Right, normally here I would be doing my replies to your lovely reviews but LadyLilyMalfoy made a good point in saying that they're a bit off putting at the beginning so I'll either message you a reply or leave them at the bottom for anons and people who have messaging disabled if I have time :) I'll only do them at the top if someone has asked a good question that I think other people will want to know the answer to :)**

* * *

**Drenched**

Sherlock had been allowed a book. It was a dull book about depression and anxiety. He was only reading it as there was nothing better to do.

He had another group therapy session later, his fourth.

He hated the group sessions. He didn't care about the other people in the room. He hardly cared about anyone. No, he didn't care about anyone, not anymore. Care leads to pain.

Sherlock looked out his window. It was raining. If this were some useless poem he was reading in English, you could call it pathetic fallacy. But no, he wasn't sitting in a boring English lesson, he was in a youth drug rehabilitation centre, but he had never wished to be in one of those lessons before now. He knew he would miss being at the school, but he didn't realise he would miss the lessons. He even missed annoying the teachers.

He had been there 2 weeks.

14 days.

336 hours.

20160 minutes.

1209600 seconds. 1209601... 1209602...

Yes he was so bored as to calculate how long he had been there in seconds. He had so much free time he was dying of boredom.

He needed to find another way to irritate the annoying doctor that always forced him into doing some kind of activity.

Last time they had tried to focus on trust. They had done that pointless activity where someone falls backwards and you're supposed to catch them. Rather than allow the teenagers to choose their own partners, _he_ had chosen them himself, preventing Sherlock and Megan from sitting at the side, disagreeing to partake in the activity.

_Big mistake._

Sherlock had been paired with another boy, around a year younger than him. He began to fall backwards, only for Sherlock to step out of the way suddenly and watch the boy fall to the ground.

He was forced to leave early.

Well, forced isn't the right word but he had to leave, much to Sherlock's delight.

He had been in his room for exactly 3 days, 5 hours 27 minutes and 12 seconds. Another pair of brutes were to transport him to the group therapy room in about 10 minutes. He looked around his room. 10 minutes to find a way to annoy that doctor.

His eyes turned to the small bathroom in his room. He walked inside and turned on the shower. He stepped inside, fully clothed, including his shoes, and let the water fall on him; his light grey tracksuit bottoms turning closer to black and his white shirt turning almost see-through.

He felt the clothing stick to his skin, showing his skinny figure and making him look even thinner than he already did. His ribs stuck out awkwardly and his arms were bony. His hair had grown quite long and began sticking to his forehead and poking him in the eye. The jogging bottoms felt heavy as he stepped out the shower. He had heard the click of the door and was just stepping out of the bathroom when he heard the hinges squeak and the door opened.

The two men gave him a hesitant look. Sherlock just smirked as they nodded towards the door, cleverly knowing not to argue with him. They walked him down the corridor to the room. Sherlock's feet made loud squelching noises with each step and he left behind a small puddle. Someone would have to clean that up later, but that wasn't his problem.

He stepped into the room, being the last to arrive, as usual. Everyone turned to look at him. There was a mixture of confusion and judgement. He saw the smirk on Megan's face as he sat down and purposefully flicked his hair out of his eyes, sending water into the faces of the people next to him. They were not amused.

The doctor rolled his eyes and sighed before continuing with his session.

Sherlock tuned out and closed his eyes. He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankle before placing his fingertips together and putting them on his chin. He thought about what Dr Weaver had told him that morning:

"_Sherlock, if you listen and take part in your therapy sessions, you will get out of here much quicker."_

"_How can you be so sure?" Sherlock frowned._

"_I've seen it. As soon as you start to comply, the system speeds up. Trust me you'll be out of here before you know it."_

And with that his psychiatrist had left.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed, contemplating whether to continue his rebellious behaviour and stay even, or 'agree' to the treatment and get the hell out of there.

It didn't take him long to make his decision.

* * *

"So Sherlock, I hear you have finally agreed to your treatment" Mycroft said as he sat down in the chair opposite Sherlock.

"You heard correctly dear brother." Sherlock slumped in his chair.

"What made you change your mind?"

"I just realised the error of my ways." Sherlock said, adding a hint of regret to his voice. His acting skills had really come along recently.

Mycroft gave a genuinely pleased smile. Sherlock stopped himself from smirking. He had even fooled his brother. If he kept up this act, it hopefully shouldn't take him too long to get out.

"I'm glad." The elder Holmes said. "I hope we should not find it necessary to make a return to this facility."

"I won't be coming back anytime soon." Sherlock said. _Next time_, he thought, _next time I'll be more careful. Next time you won't catch me. _"This place is as boring as hell anyway."

Mycroft chuckled slightly. "I would have thought so. If the comedown of your drug addiction wasn't a big enough incentive, I was sure the boredom would be."

"I'm not an addict." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

Mycroft sighed. "You may not feel you are anymore, but you were Sherlock. That smoking needs to stop too."

"Let me guess, James told you?"

"Indeed he did. I hear they supply you with nicotine patches every now and again?"

"Yes." Sherlock said through gritted teeth. The nicotine helped a bit, but he needed more to sustain his habit.

"I see…"

They sat in their familiar awkward silence for a short while before Mycroft spoke up again.

"Angela was asking about you a couple of weeks ago."

Sherlock gave no reply, just looked at his brother, waiting for him to continue.

Mycroft obliged. "She was wondering how you were. I told her you were fine. Getting on with your schoolwork and being a model student."

"In other words you lied."

"I felt it was the right thing to do. No use upsetting the poor woman."

Sherlock smirked and looked at the clock. His brother followed his gaze and then looked at his own watch.

"I'm afraid I have to leave now." Said Mycroft as he stood, picking up his briefcase and umbrella. "I only came in for a brief visit."

Sherlock stood immediately and walked towards the door. "Bye." He said in a bored tone and put his hand on the door handle and waited for the click.

"One minute Sherlock." His brother said before walking towards him. Sherlock let out an irritated sigh. "She left this for me to give to you." He handed Sherlock an envelope. Sherlock recognised the writing and paper immediately.

It was from Jonathan.

"She found it not long ago when clearing through his old belongings from the hospital. He never got a chance to send it."

Sherlock carefully took the envelope in his hand turned back to the door. When he heard it click, he flung it open and he was escorted back to his room.

* * *

Sherlock sat on the bed just staring at it.

He didn't know what to do.

Well of course he knew he should open it but he didn't know how he would react. He usually got upset. He had the scars to prove it. Oh how he _hated_ emotions.

Before him were the very last words Jonathan had written to him before he died; his private words for Sherlock's eyes only.

Sherlock nodded to himself in determination and picked up the envelope. He was going to do it.

He carefully opened it and let the cold metal object inside fall into his hand. It was a medal, the George Medal to be precise. He had read about it in one of his brother's old history textbooks. It was awarded for bravery, a step down from the George's cross.

He put the medal down and took out the paper from the envelope. With slightly shaking hands, he unfolded it and read the familiar text on the page.

_Sherlock,_

_I'm sorry it has taken me so long to write. After the operation I have been rather weak and so I cannot write as quickly as I wish._

_To say I am fine would be a lie and I do not wish to lie to you. My doctor has confirmed that my recovery has not gone as well as they had hoped. I am yet to break the news to my wife and I have no doubt her heart will be broken. _

_You may be wondering why there is one of my medals along with this letter. I'm sure you have probably guessed this by now, but it is the George Medal. I received it after an act of bravery on the 10th July 1940. As I'm sure you are aware, that was the first day of the battle of Britain. I was part of the RAF and so it was my duty to defend my country against the Germans. My aircraft lost all radio contact due to a malfunction. I did not know what was going on around me. I watched as three of my good friends were shot down and killed but their deaths are what caused my actions. I flew towards the German fleet and shot down 36 enemy aircrafts. My aircraft was eventually hit and I managed to fly back, unaware my actions had saved a young man's life. I found out his aircraft's radio had also malfunctioned and he was going to be shot down but I destroyed the enemy first. They gave me the medal but I did not want it at fist. I killed good men. The Germans were just following orders, like us. I've told you before that the war was a pleasant experience for no man. None of those men deserved to depart this world so quickly. It didn't matter where they were from, they were human lives lost._

_I lived my life to the full. I made sure that I survived for a reason. I was unsure of that reason until you were brought into the world. I looked after my family and my friends in the same way but I never felt it was a duty to care for you Sherlock. You are the son I never had. Until you left the Holmes' Estate I felt the need to protect you. Your parents were very different when Mycroft was born. They were young and tried their best. I hate to speak ill of your parents but by the time you were born, everything was merely for appearances. They no longer loved each other. I brought it upon myself to try and bring you up as best I could in such a dark world. I believe I succeeded. You are an excellent young man Sherlock, and do not let anyone else tell you otherwise. Do not feel like anyone else is better than you, as you are their equal. You are extraordinary._

_I want you to keep that medal with you always. I know you do not understand sentiment, but I want you to have it. I know you will look after it well and just knowing it is in your possession comforts me._

_I do not know if I shall be writing to you again and I doubt if I will have enough time to receive a reply from you. I am no longer living, Sherlock, merely existing. Yet I am not sad, I am happy. I have had a wonderful life and I am privileged that you graced the end of it. _

_I would like to take this opportunity to say goodbye and thank you Sherlock Holmes. I am proud to call you my friend._

_Yours,_

_Jonathan_

Sherlock put the letter down on his bed and looked at the medal in his hand. He clasped it in his fist and tried to stop the tears falling down his cheeks.

He had forgotten how much he had missed Jonathan until this moment.

He took several deeps breaths and sniffed. During his last few days of life, Jonathan had thought about _him_. He had given away one of his most prise possessions to _him_.

"You're the father I always wanted, but never had…" he said to the darkness of his room before putting the letter and medal aside and falling into a deep sleep.

* * *

**Ah that was emotional :')**

**FullMoonPhoenixShadow: Thank you so much! :D**


	35. The Final Stretch

**The Final Stretch**

Sherlock opened his eyes. The room was still dark and it was hot and stuffy. He hated waking in the middle of the night here. He rolled over onto his back and took a deep breath. He turned his head to the side to see the medal glistening in the moonlight and the paper lying neatly next to it.

He reached out his hand and turned on the lamp next to his bed and picked up the letter. With his other hand he rubbed his eyes and read the letter again.

And again.

And again.

In fact he read it a total of 12 times that night. Each time he read it he felt a few hot tears fall down his cheek. He didn't know why. All he knew was that every time he read the words in front of him, there was a sharp pain in his chest.

He ended up just staring at the paper for the rest of the night, only to be brought out of his trance as a woman came in with his breakfast which he didn't eat. Normally he would take a few bites to satisfy them but today he couldn't. Today he said no to his meals, no to seeing Dr Weaver and no to the nicotine patch.

Today he just sat there on his bed, staring at the same passage.

_You are an excellent young man Sherlock, and do not let anyone else tell you otherwise. Do not feel like anyone else is better than you, as you are their equal. You are extraordinary._

Jonathan had had faith in him. He would do this for him, for Jonathan, even though every time he saw his name, it hurt.

* * *

"I don't get it Sherlock. When did you suddenly doing what they say?"

Sherlock turned to Megan, the girl he always spoke to during their group sessions. He had been there for just over 7 weeks now. Ever since Jonathan's letter he tried extra hard to escape. Not in the traditional 'oh I'm just going to climb over this wall and run away'. No, he was going to do exactly what they wanted of him. He didn't make it obvious, sometimes he would act a bit more like his usual self so they could say he was 'relapsing' to make it more believable. All he could say was that it was working. He seemed to have them all fooled; everyone that is except Megan.

He leaned towards her and spoke in barely a whisper "If I do what they say and look like I'm recovering, the quicker I'll get out of here."

"You're mad!"

"It's working. Look at all the privileges I get now. I have full access to the entertainment room, I can have pretty much whatever I want when I want it and I can go anywhere in the facility without some kind of guard making sure I won't run off. The same can't be said for you."

"You mean to say, you're not recovering and all you're doing is acting?"

"I've already told you, I have nothing to recover from. I'm not an addict, I never was. I just used the drugs to help clear my mind, slow it down a bit."

"Yet you're here, like me, like everyone else in this room. Obviously something went wrong."

"Yeah, a roommate and an overprotective dickhead of a brother."

Before Megan could reply, Dr Weaver spoke up. "Okay that's enough pair work for today." He said with a smile. He preferred it when Dr Weaver took the sessions rather than the other doctor. Sherlock hadn't bothered to even learn his name.

Once everyone had reformed their usual circle, Dr Weaver spoke again. "Now today I want to speak about the first time you took the drug you are addicted to." A few weeks ago, this would have been the point where Sherlock would have complained that he was not an addict, but he had learnt to keep his mouth shut and pretend to agree with him. "You do not have to say anything you don't want to and as usual, you do not have to participate if you find this difficult to talk about." He smiled kindly and turned to the girl on his left. "Would you like to start Donna?"

The girl shifted in her seat slightly but nodded. "I was nearly 14…"

Sherlock pretended to pay attention but already knew how everyone started. It had been quite easy to deduce. His eyes flicked around the room to each person.

_14, peer pressure from friends, trying to be accepted in the group. 12, drank too much when parents weren't looking, been an alcoholic ever since. 15, father's death, only way to soothe the pain. 13, peer pressure again but was more forced into it rather than it being her choice. 14, just interested. 16, copied an older sibling's habits. Then there was Megan, the one who just wanted to rebel, took ecstasy for the first time at the age of 12, her lack of attention from her family meant she continued for 2 years before they realised what had happened. _

Sherlock hesitated a bit at that last thought. _Lack of attention from her family. _Maybe she was more like him than he originally perceived…

"Sherlock?" he heard Dr Weaver's voice interrupt his thoughts.

Sherlock looked up, realising he had been staring at the ground. "Hm?"

"Would you like to talk about your first time with heroin?" he asked kindly, probably expecting Sherlock to say no. He had done so in their private sessions before so the good doctor thought he would not open up to the group. He hadn't approached the matter in a few weeks.

Sherlock sat up in his seat slightly and nodded his head. "Okay."

Dr Weaver raised his eyebrows slightly in surprise but quickly corrected himself. "What happened Sherlock?"

Sherlock noticed how everyone had suddenly changed their position, staring at him intently. They probably wanted to know more about the mysterious boy who usually didn't say much at all in the sessions. Most of the time he just sat there patiently and listened. Little did they know he wasn't actually listening, just trying to deduce more about them out of sheer boredom.

"I was 13. I had just received a letter to say my old butler had died. Cancer… It hurt. He had basically brought me up. I missed him. I had a cigarette but it didn't help so I contacted my dealer and he got me some heroin. I had my own dorm so I went back and took some. No one knew. It felt…good. I had control over it though. It slowed my mind down, gave me a break from the constant thoughts, puzzles, mysteries, memories. It gave me peace of mind. I don't get that. Not in here. There's always something going through my head. It never stops. Each time I answer something, there's just another question waiting to be answered. _What's the square root of pie? How many roads are there in London? What will happen if I mix bromine and potassium? Who's Mycroft paying to spy on me this time? What's Anderson going to call me tomorrow? Freak? Fag? Bender? What will happen when father next beats me? Will he kill me?_" Sherlock threw the medal that had been in his hand across the room. He must have subconsciously taken it out of his pocket while he was talking about Jonathan. His voice had been getting angrier and louder as he had been speaking. He stood up abruptly, sending his chair flying behind him and fast walked to the door to go to his room, ignoring the surprised stares he was receiving from the group.

He ran all the way back, the anger surging through his veins. He slammed his door shut and fell onto his bed. He closed his eyes tightly and grabbed his hair, trying to remove all the sudden memories of his father hitting him. He took deep heavy breaths and calmed himself.

_Gain composure. Sort yourself out; _he thought to himself, _Caring hurts. Don't let it take that control. It won't end well._

He opened his eyes as he heard a knock at the door before it opened. There stood Dr Weaver. Sherlock sniffed and rubbed his hair, making sure it covered his eyes. _Need a haircut…_

The doctor came and sat next to Sherlock on his bed and held out his hand, the medal sitting safely in his palm. Sherlock slowly lifted his hand and carefully took the cold metal object and placed it back in his pocket.

"Sherlock, do you want to talk?"

Sherlock coughed before answering. "We don't have a session scheduled until tomorrow."

"I know but I don't have any other sessions scheduled today. I have time now if you want it."

Sherlock looked at the man sitting next to him. _Why was he being kind? _He saw the concern on his face.

Then he remembered the last thing he had said before getting out of there as fast as he could.

"_Will he kill me?"_

_Stupid. Why had he slipped that out?_ That had been one of his primary concerns in life but he had never told anyone about it, not even Jonathan. Now he understood, as far as he could understand anyway, Dr Weaver's concern.

"Tomorrow." Sherlock said.

"If you're sure." Dr Weaver said and patted the boy gently on the shoulder, only to see him visibly flinch at the contact. He frowned slightly before smiling at him. "I think you made a lot of progress today Sherlock. You're on the final stretch of getting clean. I don't think you'll be here in a couple of weeks time." And with that, the man stood and left Sherlock in peace.

The boy laid down on his bed once more and closed his eyes, allowing himself to drift off to sleep

* * *

"So Sherlock, I presume you know what I want to talk about today?" Dr Weaver asked as he took a seat opposite him. Sherlock nodded and he continued. "The real question is: are you ready to talk about it?"

Sherlock looked up from the floor and nodded again. "Yeah I'm ready."

"For how long have you been hit by your father, Sherlock?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"If you could describe your relationship with your father in one word, what would that be?"

"Shit." Sherlock said bluntly and shifted his position.

"So do you feel like if you had a problem, you couldn't turn to him?"

"Precisely."

Dr Weaver nodded and wrote a few notes down in his notebook. "Do you have anyone to talk to about this, whether it be at home or school, anyone?"

"No."

"Do you feel alone?"

"Alone protects me."

"Have you tried to make friends?"

"No I'm a sociopath."

"I'm sure that's not true-"

"I've been told it enough times to make it true." An image of an 11 year old Mycroft popped into his head. He remembered the first time he had said that to him…

"What about Jonathan?"

"He's dead."

"I know." he said kindly "I believe his death may be the primary trigger of your addiction."

Sherlock cocked his head to the side before speaking. "Why do you think that?"

"I think that over the years you've built up all this negative emotion inside of you and then when he died, you felt like you lost your father, not an old butler. I know how it feels to lose someone that close to you." Sherlock looked at the man and knew he was telling the truth. He only worked out a few weeks ago about his father's death. "Sherlock, each time you think about Jonathan, how do you feel?"

"I don't know."

"You do, deep down you do. You may think you're a sociopath with no understanding of emotion, but I know you feel something. When you talk about your experiments, you get excited and interested. When we spoke about your father you were angry. Really _think_ about it Sherlock, when you think about Jonathan, what do you _feel_?"

Sherlock paused for a second before replying honestly "Sad, as if something's missing."

"Okay…" Dr Weaver wrote some final notes before leaning forward and looking directly at the boy. "Here's what I want you to do Sherlock. Each time you feel a craving or a need to take anything, think of him. Not in the way that makes you sad like his death, but more about the happy memories you have of him. Always think of the positives in a negative situation."

"Says the one who was clinically depressed at my age." Sherlock said bluntly without realising exactly what he had just said.

"I still don't know how you know that but yes es, I admit I was, but I recovered and became a psychiatrist so I could help young people, like yourself, to not go through the same bad experiences as I did. See, positive in a negative situation."

"They really drummed that into you, didn't they?"

Dr Weaver smiled. "Yes, they did." He put his pen and notebook down and turned back to Sherlock. "That'll do for today. Just think about what I said, okay?"

Sherlock nodded and got up from his seat, leaving the man in peace.

* * *

Sherlock thought it strange that both doctors had turned up for his last group session. It was supposed to be Dr Weaver's session but that other doctor had turned up again. It was probably to make sure the nightmare that was Sherlock was definitely leaving.

"And our time is nearly up…" said Dr Weaver as he looked at his watch then smiled at the group. "If you are not already aware, this is in fact Sherlock's last group session with us. He will be leaving tomorrow afternoon."

Sherlock noticed the familiar four faces that he had been meeting with for his time at the youth drug rehabilitation centre, all looking at him intently. Three of them had already left, only leaving 5 of them, from tomorrow onwards only 4. 9 weeks of pretending to have an addiction to get out of there. He was finally escaping.

"Do you have any last words Sherlock?"

Sherlock turned back to the man who had been so patient with him for the last few weeks. He rubbed a hand through his messy hair and coughed slightly before saying "Bye, I suppose. Bit of advice, listen to what they have to say, it helps a lot." His final bit of acting before he was free. "Don't be idiots. So yeah, bye."

He received a confused applaud from the group before it split up. He was told a few congratulations and good lucks before leaving.

"Alright for some." Said Megan as they were leaving the room.

"Told you it would work."

"I'll give it a go I suppose…"

"Good luck, your acting is terrible."

"Oh thanks!" she said sarcastically before smiling. "Not going to be the same without you Sherlock."

"No it'll be a lot more dull I should imagine." He smiled back at her in a 'haha for you!' expression.

"God I'm dreading it."

"Don't expect me to be back."

"I wouldn't dare imagine it. Have fun going back to school." She winked mockingly.

Sherlock groaned. "Great, they're going to give me a load of 'catch up work'. I'm doing my bloody A levels for God's sake."

"Yeah yeah I know _genius boy_. Anyway, you, good luck and all that bullshit everyone else said. What are you going to do once they've let you out?"

"Have a cigarette."

Megan laughed lightly before shaking her head. "Trust you to take a drug as soon as you step out of here."

"It's not illegal." Sherlock said defensively.

"It is at our age idiot." Sherlock twitched up the corner of his mouth. Megan looked at the watch on her wrist and groaned. "Great, I've got another therapy session with that bloody awful Dr Bridger."

Sherlock frowned. "Who?"

Megan gave him a look of disbelief. "Really?"

Sherlock made no reply, just cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

Megan smiled slightly and shook her head again. "That doctor we've had in our therapy sessions for the last 9 weeks. You know, the one we hate?"

Sherlock nodded. "Oh so that was his name… Have fun." He mocked her.

"Oh whatever. I suppose this is goodbye then."

"Goodbye."

"See you around Sherlock." And with that the girl walked away towards the individual therapy rooms.

Sherlock made his way back to his own room and smiled. _Thank God he was getting out of here…_

* * *

**Tada another chapter :) Bloody long one at that :P**

**Anonymous: I actually had tears in my eyes when reading your review :') it is literally one of the kindest things someone has ever said to me! I'm so so glad you're enjoying it! Whoever you are, I love you! :)**


	36. Junkie

**SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY SORRY!**

**My computer broke :( I only managed to get it repaired yesterday evening so I haven't had a chance to update or write! So sorry :( Hope this chapter makes up for it a bit! Thank you for being so nice and patient!**

* * *

**Junkie**

Sherlock had been supplied with his case and he quickly packed his belongings. He paused for a couple of seconds when packing Jonathan's medal and letter, briefly looking at them before carefully putting them in the case.

He slammed the case shut and eagerly walked out of his, what he like to call, cell. His long strides quickly made him arrive at the main entrance where he waited for his brother to hurry up and take him away. He had enough hatred for him forcing him to come here; he shouldn't want to add to that by being late.

He sat on one of the chairs and tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. He kept checking his watch every few seconds, knowing that not that much time had in fact passed.

As if Mycroft had planned it, he strode in through the doors at the exact time when the second hand made it officially 3 o'clock. Sherlock stood and picked up his case, walking over to his brother who was talking to the woman at the reception.

"Hurry up and get me out of this hell hole." Sherlock snapped while Mycroft busied himself signing documents.

"All in good time, brother. Be _patient_."

"I've been in here for 9 bloody weeks! I _have_ been patient."

Mycroft sighed out of annoyance and signed the final document before turning to Sherlock. "You're free to go."

"_Finally_." Sherlock huffed.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and followed his brother's retreating figure out the door. Sherlock automatically recognised the black car that had parked up outside the centre and dumped his case in the boot. He jumped into the car and crossed his arms while waiting for Mycroft to take his merry time getting there. As soon as the man took a seat in the back, he signalled for the driver to go with a slight wave of his hand.

"Sherlock, the plan is that you shall return home for a few days before going back to Marina. Luckily for you that headmaster likes you and decided to give you a second chance."

When Sherlock made no reply, just glared out the window with his arms folded tightly Mycroft sighed dramatically.

"And I thought you'd be glad to get out of there…"

"I am." Sherlock snapped. "The fact I went in there in the first place is what annoys me."

"Sherlock, you brought it upon yourself. It was for your own good-"

"Oh shut up Mycroft. I hope you realise I'm never going to forgive you for this."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and looked out his own window. _That boy could be so immature sometimes…_

* * *

As they approached the house, Sherlock frowned even more. He didn't want to be here. The car came to a halt and Mycroft got out the car.

"Come on brother. You can either get out yourself or be dragged out."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed. He got out of the car slowly, making the most of his time away from his parents. He dragged his feet as he walked to the boot and retrieved his case. He looked at the Holmes Estate and grimaced. It was a beautiful building but it was hideous due to the people inside. They made it feel more like a prison than a home.

He walked slowly up the house. Mycroft had already entered and he could already hear his mother praising 'the golden boy'. It made him feel sick. It was _pathetic._

Sherlock walked through the door and his pace changed dramatically. He almost ran up the stairs, taking two steps at a time and walking straight past his parents. He reached his room and slammed the door behind him. He made sure to lock the door.

He looked at the makeshift lock he had made quite a while ago and frowned slightly. He needed a new one. This one wasn't going to hold up much longer. It could also be picked quite easily.

He pulled up the corner of his carpet to reveal the hidden floorboard underneath. He lifted up the wood and quickly found his father's old screwdriver. He had required a few tools when he was around the age of 9, when his parent's were having a clear out. Well, not his parents exactly. They made the clearout happen but did not participate in the event at all. Sherlock had stayed with Jonathan as he cleared out the garden shed. He had let him keep whatever he wanted. This included some old tools and a pocket knife.

Sherlock knew there was an unused bolt on the shed and in the strange building at the bottom of the garden. Two bolts would be better than one.

He slowly opened his door and poked his head outside. He could no longer hear Mycroft and his parents' voices, so he walked out of his room and made his way silently down the stairs. He heard their muffled voices coming from the main living area, which luckily faced the front of the house. He walked past the closed door towards the back of the house and ran into the garden.

He ran to the shed and picked the lock. He opened the door to reveal part of the bolt on the door. He quickly unscrewed it and put it in his pocket before unscrewing the second part. He closed the shed and made his way to the bottom of the garden.

There stood the abandoned building. He had never known if it had been touched by the Holmes family. It looked as if it has been deserted long ago, since before he was born. He ripped back the ivy at the top of the door and unscrewed the bolt. He put it in his pocket and was about to turn away when he saw that the door was now unlocked. He turned back to the house before ripping away more of the ivy, making it possible for him to open the door just wide enough for him to fit through.

He stepped into the dark room. The windows had been boarded up and so only a few streams of sunlight came through. He strode over to the nearest widow and easily pulled off some of the boards. Sunlight streamed into the building and Sherlock could get his first proper look.

It looked like an old lab. There were pieces of old science equipment all over the place, charts covering the walls and a _real_ skeleton stood in the corner. He read the charts and found the data to match up for around 30 years ago, so for some strange reason, this building had been abandoned for 30 years. It looked like someone was in the middle of an experiment and looking at the things in the room, whoever was carrying out this experiment was serious about science and so was probably a doctor. Someone with this much dedication to science would not have just abandoned an experiment half way through. Probably an untimely death. He remembered his brother saying something about the house being abandoned for many years before their parents had moved in and renovated it. The scientist man (of course it was a man, look how untidy it was) must have been the last resident of the estate.

Sherlock took one last look around before leaving the building. He closed the door and moved the ivy so it looked like he had never been in there. He quickly rubbed his hair, making sure there were no cobwebs or other things to suggest he had entered the building. He dusted down his clothes and made his way back to the house.

It didn't take him long to attach the bolts to his door, one at the top, one at the bottom. He also found it rather amusing when his brother decided to try and enter, only to find that he couldn't.

* * *

Sherlock walked up to the reception to find Miss Crey still there, looking as happy as ever.

"Morning Miss Crey." He said as he leant over the reception desk.

"Ah hello." She beamed a smile at him. "Oh it's you, the one with the interesting name…"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Ah yes! That was it." She smiled again. "Welcome back."

He nodded at her as a thank you gesture. "Can I have my key?"

"Sure, I'll just get it for you…" she got up and walked into the small office behind her. Sherlock heard her open a filing cabinet and pull out a file. She walked back to the desk and passed him his key, a piece of paper and a pen. "I just need you to sign that to confirm your arrival and you can be on your way."

Sherlock quickly signed the paper before handing it back to her. He walked to the corridor and made his way towards the dorms.

She had been much friendlier than Mycroft this morning. Sherlock smirked as he couldn't think about anything else than Mycroft's angry, impatient face.

_BANG BANG BANG! _

_Mycroft was banging on his door again._

"_Hurry up Sherlock! You said you wanted to go back early, now don't be late!"_

"_Patience dear brother!" Sherlock shouted back mockingly._

_He saw Mycroft trying to enter his room again, only to be stopped by the bolts. He heard him sigh in frustration before saying. "As soon as you're gone, these bloody bolts are going!"_

_Sherlock heard his retreating footsteps and smirked._

He walked towards the dorm rooms, only to overhear a group of girls in the year below say "That's him, the junkie." He thought nothing of it, thinking he may have heard them wrong, although his senses never usually let him down.

At least father had gone on a business trip across the country on his second day back home. The bad thing about that being that he would feel father's anger later…

Sherlock found his way to his dorm room and frowned as he heard voices coming from inside. He felt his blood boil with anger for his roommate. If it wasn't for him, he never would have had to go to some stupid youth drug rehabilitation centre. He didn't _have_ to call Mycroft.

He put his key in the lock before opening the door and storming in. He threw his rather heavy case onto his bed before looking at the group of boys sitting on James' bed, staring at him in bewilderment.

"Sherlock," James said suddenly. "I thought you weren't coming back till next week…"

Sherlock glared at him. "You son of a bitch."

James frowned slightly. "What?"

"Out of everyone you could have called, you phoned Mycroft." He said through gritted teeth.

"Who else was I going to call? You were going to die Sherlock!"

Sherlock strode over, grabbed the boy by his collar and pressed him against the wall. "I was not going to die. I had it under control."

"Get the fuck off him you junkie!" he heard one of James' friends shout while they tried to pull him away.

Sherlock looked up at the ceiling, smiling in disbelief. He let out an aggravated sigh before speaking again and meeting his gaze. "And you decided to tell people as well? What the fuck is wrong with you?" He pulled him away from the wall momentarily, only to violently push him back into it.

"Look, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said anything. It just slipped out. How would I know the whole student body would eventually know?"

"Quite easily. These people are stupid. All they live for is that little piece of gossip. It's pathetic, like you." He pushed him into the wall once more before letting go. He stormed out of the room.

He quickly pulled out his mobile and dialled the number of his first contact. He waited impatiently for them to pick up.

As soon as he heard him answer, Sherlock spoke.

"Andy, I need some cigarettes. Now."

"Sherlock? I thought I lost your service."

"I've been in rehab. I haven't had a cigarette in nearly 10 weeks. Are you going to give me some or not?"

"Fine. I'm on my way."

Sherlock hung up and continued his long strides to the orchard.

* * *

"You took your time." Sherlock said bluntly as the figure of Andy approached.

"You're not my only customer." He said and rummaged through his bag to get out two packets of cigarettes. Sherlock snatched them out of his hands and passed him the money. "Rehab couldn't stop you then."

"They tried." Sherlock took out one of the cigarettes and lit it, taking a long satisfying drag.

"Nothing else then?" Andy signalled towards his bag.

Sherlock hummed in appreciation of the tar settling in his lungs. "No, that would be too obvious. Need to lay low for a bit…"

Andy nodded. "Well. If you ever need anything, give us a call, as usual."

Sherlock nodded before walking back in the direction of the school.

"Watch out Marina," he said to himself. "I'm back."


	37. Music

**Music**

"Oi, Junkie!" Sherlock heard Anderson's voice shout down the corridor. He twisted around on his heels to look at the boy. He could tell the boy had missed taunting him. _Oh and look, he had got himself another bunch of minions_. _Great._

Anderson swaggered, or at least Sherlock thought that was supposed to be a swagger, over to him, his group close behind him.

"How's it like to be out of rehab? Made friends with a load of other junkies did you? Of course not, you're too much of a freak even for their standards."

When Sherlock made no reaction just to annoy the boy, Anderson threw a punch at Sherlock's face. Suddenly Sherlock quickly dodged it, only causing Anderson to hit the brick wall behind him. He smirked at Anderson's attempt to not cry out in pain. His face had contorted into something like a grimace.

"Anger management _still_ not going well? Tut tut." Sherlock said as he walked around the group of boys.

Luckily they didn't follow him. The crowded corridor practically split in half, like two waves, to let him through. No one wanted to touch him. It was as if they would end up getting some kind of fatal disease if they did.

He liked it that way. He didn't care what they thought of him. At least this way he could get through the crowds quickly and easily.

Sherlock made his way round to the opposite side of the school where he was going to be having music.

Music was okay. It was better than some of the other subjects he was forced to do but he hated how patronising Miss Fisher was when it came to playing instruments. Just because some of these people hadn't seen or touched a keyboard in their lives, it didn't mean that everyone hadn't. Sherlock was grade 5 on piano after being forced to play it as a child. However she often let Sherlock do what he wanted and sometimes let him go and play his violin in a private music room instead so Sherlock didn't think of her to be too bad.

But before Sherlock could pass through the final corridor to the music block, a small girl crashed him into a hug. He stiffened, hating the physical contact and looked down to the familiar face of Molly Hooper.

"Sherlock! I'm so glad you're back!" She received many a dirty look from other people in the corridor. They were probably wondering why someone was touching Sherlock Holmes, let alone hugging him.

She gave him one final squeeze before finally backing off, much to Sherlock's delight. Her face reddened slightly after realising she just hugged the boy who hated human interaction.

"Sorry… It's just, well, me and James missed you…"

Sherlock frowned slightly. "Why would you miss _me_?"

"You've been away 10 weeks. It gets surprisingly dull without you around." She gave him a shy, small smile. "It's not the same without you…"

Sherlock made no response, just deepened his frown a little more. Social conventions were pretty much the only thing that confused him anymore.

"We came to visit you while you were in hospital. Your brother said you woke up the day after."

"I know." Sherlock said bluntly.

"We wanted to come and see you when you were at… you know…" she said awkwardly, thinking this would be a difficult thing for Sherlock to talk about.

"Rehab?"

"Yeah… But your brother wouldn't allow it."

"Of course he wouldn't, he's Mycroft."

Molly giggled lightly "Well I'd better be going. I don't want to be late!"

"Hm. Have fun in biology." Sherlock said as he walked swiftly past her. He need not imagine the look of surprise on her face. Her tone of voice and the way she didn't want to be late clearly showed it was her favourite subject and he already knew it was biology from previous knowledge.

He walked down the corridor and past the room he was supposed to have music in. Instead he walked outside and pulled out a cigarette. He would need one before going into that lesson. Everyone he hates and who hated him were to be in there. Anderson, Sally Donovan, Tony, the list went on.

He took a long drag on his cigarette. Time to enter hell.

* * *

Sherlock opened the door to the music room. He was 10 minutes late after his cigarette break but he didn't care. He didn't want to be there and they didn't want him there, but he had made an agreement to go to all of his lessons for the next few weeks or he would not be allowed to do his A Level exams in the summer. It was their way of trying to 'get him back on track'.

They didn't say, however, he had to be there on time.

30 young teenagers' heads turned toward the door not expecting the boy to walk in.

"Ah Mr Holmes! Good to have you back!" said an enthusiastic Miss Fisher.

Sherlock nodded in her direction and looked at the faces in front of him.

Some showed fear, as if afraid he was going to attack them with a used needle in the dead of night. Others, including Sally Donovan, showed disgust purely for the fact he was an apparent 'junkie'. Tony and his friends gave him a warning look for a reason Sherlock was unaware of at this moment in time, probably some rumour that had gone around while he was gone. Anderson and the group he had somehow managed to befriend gave him a cold glare. He knew this wasn't about the drugs. Their motives were only created from pure hatred.

But there was one face in the crowd that didn't judge him. James sat a row from the front, smiling guiltily at him. Sherlock could tell he regretted telling people about his time in rehab. He knew if he hadn't opened his mouth then most people wouldn't have reacted to his absence. They would have just thought he was skipping class as he usually did. Even his friends would have noticed his absence from their dorm room but they would ignore it, glad that the 'freak' was missing.

Sherlock grabbed a chair from the back of the room and placed it in a secluded corner. He groaned internally when Miss Fisher said about his classmates creating their own compositions which were to be performed to the class. It would also contribute to their end of year grade. Sherlock's grade was currently very low by his parents' standards but he had missed school for the last 10 weeks. This meant he would have to participate in the activity to get a good grade to please his parents.

It wasn't as if he couldn't play well or couldn't play in front of people, he just knew that he would get a load of crap from his classmates afterwards, no matter how well or poorly he played. He didn't care. Their bullying just meant he could spill out their deepest secrets and humiliate them. Well he did that anyway but it was more fun when they _thought_ they had the upper hand.

But he supposed ignoring verbal abuse from everyone around him was better than receiving even more physical abuse from his father.

* * *

Sherlock stood in his room, playing his violin, trying to come up with something for music. They had been given the theme of 'a place of their choice'. Sherlock hated how uncreative the assignment was but liked how vague it was; although it was obvious most people would do about their homes and Marina.

Sherlock had decided to do London. He loved that city. It was different around every corner and there were thousands of people passing you each day and millions of different things happened. Sherlock couldn't wait until he was older and could move out legally and live in the centre of London.

Sherlock tried several different tempos and notes until he decided on something he liked and wrote it down. He was actually enjoying it. He had composed before but he knew he should do it more often.

He started from his piece's beginning and listened to what he had done so far. He was concentrating so hard on the music that filled his ears, he didn't notice James enter the room.

When he had finished the part he had written, he improvised and just played what he thought sounded good. He stopped and wrote down the notes.

"You chose London." Said James bluntly.

Sherlock flicked his eyes up from the sheet music he was producing and looked at the boy. "Yes." He was quite surprised he had guessed it actually.

"My dad was a professional musician. I used to listen to him play. He would always explain to me what the music meant. You remind me of him with your deduction thing. He could do the same but with music."

Sherlock turned around, giving the boy his full attention. He raised an eyebrow.

James looked at him from his lying position on his bed. "You know, like he could work out the minute details of a piece. He taught me everything he knew."

"Show me." Sherlock said and took a slight step closer.

"How?"

"I'll play something and you tell me what its '_deep meaning_' is." He was intrigued.

"Well I can try. I'm no where near as good as dad was."

Sherlock lifted his violin to his shoulder and began to play random pieces he had stored in his mind palace.

"That one's easy." James said as Sherlock continued playing. "Most people would say this piece is about meeting a new love but it has several flat notes so the composer was thinking about a love he lost while creating it. He was recalling the first time they met."

"Good…" Sherlock said with a small smile. He had really underestimated this boy. He began playing another.

"That's about a dog."

"Go on." Sherlock prompted.

"The high pitch and fast tempo could also be interpreted as a hyperactive child but eventually they would come down and have some kind of tantrum but the tone of the music only varies slightly so it's more likely to be a dog. Dogs always seem to be happy, especially puppies."

Sherlock nodded and decided to play him a piece of his own. He obviously hadn't recognised the other two pieces that he hadn't written so he was pretty sure he would not realise the music was his own.

He had written it a few years ago now but he could play it rather well and he thought it was generally quite a good piece for a child to have written.

He watched as James' brow furrowed slightly while listening.

"Well, it's been written by a skilful child." He began. "I would say it's about being alone, possibly rejection. The composer hurt deep down but there was also some hope in there."

It was Sherlock's turn to frown. "Hope?"

"Yeah, there were a few lifts in the music. It was as if they thought it could get better, even though they knew it couldn't. The innocence of a child."

Sherlock nodded. "Hm."

He returned to where he was originally standing by the window to finish off his piece for music.

When he had completed it, he returned the violin to its case and laid down on his bed. He let out a deep breath.

"I'm really sorry Sherlock…" he heard James' guilty voice cut through the silence in the room. "I didn't mean to tell anyone. It got out of hand. I've been feeling like shit for days."

Sherlock made no reply, just stared at the ceiling.

"Look, if you hate me, I get it. It was a stupid thing to do. You don't deserve this treatment Sherlock. You're a great guy."

Sherlock tensed slightly before replying with a quiet "thank you."

James lifted the corners of his mouth into a smile. "No problem."


	38. Rage

**Right I suppose I need to do one of these…**

**Disclaimer: Everything you recognise, I don't own. Everything you don't recognise is mine. Simple enough.**

**Also, thanks to ITrustThyLove for coming up with Sherlock's father's job. :)**

* * *

**Rage**

So after Sherlock played his piece, Anderson had come up with another name for him.

'Fairy boy'.

_Fairy boy? _

It didn't even make sense. But that was Anderson for you. He was an idiot.

It wasn't even the worst insult they had given him yet they still used it. To be honest, Sherlock thought it to be the most feeble of their insults.

But at least it had boosted his music grade considerably, making it unnecessary to hack into the school system again.

Sherlock had continued his smoking habit but hadn't picked up any more drugs. He didn't know why Dr Weaver's words had stuck in his head, but whenever he considered calling Andy, an image of Jonathan just appeared in his head and he decided against it.

Unfortunately it was the end of the school year. He had taken his exams and now had to leave. He had the same problem every year. He hated going home. It would mean he would have to face father. He hadn't seen him since he came home from rehab and hadn't interacted with him since last summer. He knew _exactly_ what was coming.

He got changed out of his school uniform into a pair of trousers and a long sleeved shirt, just in case. He didn't want to upset the family by them having to buy him new uniform when his was going to be covered in his own blood just after he got home. It wasn't the first time.

"_You stupid little brat!"_

_Punch in the ribs. Slap to the face. Kick in the back of the knee._

_Sherlock fell to the ground, clutching his stomach. He kept kicking. And punching._

_Blood streamed from his nose and lip, covering his face and school clothes. _

"_See what you did? Now we have to buy you a new uniform too!"_

_Punch. Kick. Kick. Kick. Punch punch._

_It hurt._

_He spat on the boy's face and walked away, leaving the 8 year old curled up in the corner of the hallway._

"_Sherlock? Oh no. Sherlock, can you hear me?" he had heard Jonathan's kind voice say. _

_Then everything went black._

He had never understood why his father had beaten him so hard on that day, so hard that he had lost consciousness. All he had done was walk in from school with muddy shoes. That would normally have given him a slap to the face or a quick blow to the stomach. But not that day.

Sherlock walked out of the building and got into the car, only to find his brother sat inside already.

"To what do I owe this pleasure Mycroft?" Sherlock asked as he did up his seatbelt.

"I thought you would enjoy some company on the long journey home. I hear that you have been being a good boy at school."

"If you mean I attended lessons then yes. But I only did so I could take my exams in the summer."

"You're going to have an impressive CV when you are older dear brother. All those GCSEs and A levels. Mummy will be very impressed."

"She never has before so why should she be now?"

"Don't upset mummy."

"You can talk. You disappointed her with your choice of prime minister last year."

"Sherlock that is my job and technically you should know nothing about that. I only hold a minor position in the British government."

"Mycroft you and I both know I know you _are_ practically the British government. I also know that you are becoming part of the secret service next year. Hide your documents more wisely next time." Sherlock indicated to his briefcase with a limp hand.

Mycroft looked down to his briefcase to see a couple of corners of paper were sticking out visibly. He rolled his eyes and turned back to his brother. "Those files are confidential. You should not be reading them."

"Then maybe you should hide them in a better place than the backseat of a car."

Frustratingly his little brother was right so Mycroft just changed the subject. "You seem to be getting on well with Mr Butler."

"He's alright."

"I'm glad you think so as I have ensured he will be your roommate again next year."

"Okay." It was a small relief for Sherlock to be honest. He had enjoyed having James as a roommate. He wasn't like the rest of the stuck up brats at the school. He may have been one of the popular boys and most of his friends were a bunch of dickheads but when it was just him and Sherlock he seemed a nice enough guy, though he would still choose his friends over him. If he didn't, that would make Sherlock his friend. Sherlock didn't mind that though. He didn't do having friends.

"Also don't wind father up. He's had a lot of pressure at work recently."

"Well lucky for him his favourite punch bag is coming home."

Mycroft looked at his frail brother. It was true. Their father did hit him far too much. "I'm sure he will leave you be if you just _behave._"

Sherlock huffed "Behaving well hasn't stopped him before…"

Mycroft sighed inwardly. Sherlock was right. He could tell his little brother was scared. It was almost impossible to pick up on, but as his brother, Mycroft could read him pretty well.

_No direct eye contact, tapping his right foot slightly, unsteady breathing rate. Sherlock is afraid._

* * *

Sherlock prepared himself for the worst. He didn't want to go into that house and face his father but he knew he had to. There was no point in avoiding it any longer. He may as well get it over and done with.

He stepped out the car and slowly made his way into the house to find Mycroft speaking hushed words to his father. Sherlock hesitated in front of his parents. He held his case tightly by the handle and his knuckles turned white. He hadn't been this nervous and afraid in his life. He rarely experienced them so it was quite a peculiar situation he was in. Somehow he managed to keep a poker face.

His brother turned and saw him standing behind him so he smiled at his parents and continued walking through to the study.

Sherlock was frozen to the spot. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. He hated it.

"Sherlock." His mother stated and took a step forward. "I must say your father and I do not approve of your drug taking earlier this year. If we find you do any more, there will be very serious consequences." There was something different about her tone of voice though. It seemed to be warmer than her usual harsh bluntness.

"I understand." Sherlock said simply and his eyes flicked to his father for a second. _Oh he understood very well indeed._

"I expect you to behave boy." His father said. "Or you will regret it." No change in tone there though.

His father may have been a prosecutor but it didn't mean he abided the law against beating children.

He nodded and made his way up to his room. He instantly noticed his room had been searched and all his chemistry supplies were missing. Sherlock frowned, dumped his case on the floor and made his way to the study.

"Mycroft! What did you do with all my science equipment?" Sherlock shouted at his brother.

Mycroft looked over the top of the newspaper as if he was expecting Sherlock to enter 5 minutes ago. "It was a safety precaution just in case you relapsed. We didn't know what you might end up doing with your supplies." He said simply and returned to his paper.

"_Experiments_ Mycroft. I do _experiments_. How stupid are you?"

"Not stupid enough to think that an ex drug addict would take advantage of dangerous chemicals."

"Damn you Mycroft!" he shouted as he stormed out the room.

"Yes damn me…" Mycroft mumbled in a bored tone to the retreating figure as he turned the page in his newspaper.

Sherlock was fed up now. He walked into the kitchen and got a glass of water, downing it quickly. He slumped against the worktop and watched the cook. She was currently baking some kind of food and ignored him completely. She had gotten used to the boy's antics as a child and so didn't expect anything useful to come out of him.

Sherlock wondered over and started rummaging through the cupboards. The cook sighed and paused from what she was doing. "What are you looking for master Sherlock?" she asked in a frustrated tone, her Scottish accent even stronger when she was annoyed.

"Flour…" Sherlock said as he darted round the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards loudly and swiftly. He bobbed up and down looking in the cupboards above and below his head.

"Hold on." The woman said. It wasn't the first time he had destroyed the kitchen trying to find something for his experiments.

Sherlock stopped and watched as the cook walked over to a cupboard on the far right of the room and retrieved some plain flour for him. Sherlock took it off her and nodded to her in appreciation. The plump woman raised her eyebrows and shook her head. Lord knew what he was experimenting with this time.

Little did the woman know, Sherlock was plotting revenge.

He checked the corridor and saw the coast was clear and made his way to the front door where Mycroft's coat and faithful umbrella were situated. Sherlock smiled to himself as he saw the rain begin to pour down outside.

_Brilliant_.

Sherlock carefully opened the umbrella and poured in the flour right in the centre and closed it again, making sure not to spill it anywhere. He returned it to its original position and the grin on his face grew even wider when he saw the umbrella's white content was undetectable.

Sherlock returned the flour to where the cook had found it for him and he made his upstairs again.

He smirked as he remembered Mycroft was also wearing a black Armani suit today.

* * *

"_Sherlock!_" he heard Mycroft's voice shout around the building.

Then there was the banging at his door so Sherlock stood and opened the door innocently.

"Yes Mycroft?" he began to say in his innocent tone but it soon turned into uncontrollable laughter. He quickly took out his phone and snapped a photo of his brother covered in flour. The laughter felt foreign coming from him, but it felt good. He very rarely laughed but this was one of those rare moments where Mycroft looked like an absolute fool.

His brother continued to frown angrily at him. "Sherlock! Why the hell did you put flour in my umbrella?"

"You took away my science equipment." He said with a slight pout after he had calmed down a bit.

"What is all this noise about?" his father bellowed as he stormed down the hall.

Sherlock automatically stopped laughing and paled a little. He had forgotten about father…

His father's irritated expression soon turned into a look of pure anger when he saw the state in which his oldest son was in. He slowly turned his head and looked at the teenage boy who now matched him in height.

"What did I say? I _warned_ you boy." The older man said slowly and full of hatred.

Sherlock saw the fist about to collide with his jaw but his natural reflexes caused him to dodge to the right.

Mycroft's expression of pure anger was now one of slight shock at his father's abrupt actions.

"Huh." Sherlock breathed out with a slight smile.

"_How dare you?_" his father shouted and went to throw another punch but Sherlock ducked and ran past him, his moment of achievement now one of slight panic but adrenaline starting pumping through his veins as he ran through the house with his father chasing him.

"_You fucking brat! Get here now!_" his father was screaming behind him.

Sherlock was gradually leaving him behind. He jumped over the barrier that blocked people from falling down to the floor below and landed on the floor with a roll to prevent him sustaining any damage. He looked up to see his father's rage and surprise and his brother approaching the scene. He smirked and gave his father a small mocking salute before running out the front door into the rain.

* * *

**Right, sorry guys but this will have to be the last update until 16th July as I'm going away for the week for work experience. I'll try and make time for writing but I won't be able to upload :( Also just realised I left you on a cliffhanger again… Mwuhahahaaa I'm evil. **

**Have a nice week!**


	39. Lost and Found

**I'm back :D only to bring you this week's chapters but then I'm going away on holiday :( and then I cant update until I get a new laptop :( I feel so mean to you guys. Sorry :'( But you guys are amazing! Apparently this story has had over 20,000 views! WOW. Thank you so much! **

**Right before you read this chapter, I just want to make clear that I have nothing against people who have autism or any other kind of mental illness. Autism runs in my family so saying I hate autistic people is like saying I hate myself and my family. The opinions voiced in this chapter are not my own, just the hideous thoughts that some people think.**

* * *

**Lost and Found**

"Damn you Mycroft!" Sherlock shouted as he stormed out the room.

"Yes damn me…" Mycroft mumbled in a bored to the retreating figure as he turned the page in his newspaper. He read an article about how people hated the new tax he had just brought it. Little did they know, it was going directly back to them and reducing some of their other taxes. Stupid normal people.

Mycroft looked at his watch. He would need to leave within the hour to get to that meeting about… well, even he didn't know yet it was _that_ top secret.

He put down his newspaper and made his way to the front door, stopping at the main living area to quickly say goodbye to mummy and father. There was no need to look out the window and notice the rain as it was heavy and smashing against the windows. He picked up his coat and umbrella, which had an unfamiliar weight to it but Mycroft thought nothing of it. He opened the front door and put up his umbrella, only to be suddenly covered in flour. His suit was ruined.

"_Sherlock!_" he shouted angrily to the house. He threw his umbrella and coat to the floor and stormed up the stairs.

Mycroft banged hard on the boy's door when he realised he had locked the door. _Damn those bloody locks._

"Yes Mycr-" Sherlock managed to say before falling into uncontrollable laughter. This just annoyed Mycroft even more. _The cheeky bugger even took a picture!_

"Sherlock! Why the hell did you put flour in my umbrella?"

"You took away my science equipment."

"What is all this noise about?" Mycroft turned to see his father walking up just behind him, his expression being rather scary, even for a 21 year old man. At least Sherlock had stopped laughing at him now.

Mycroft just observed as his father turned to his little brother. He saw the hatred in those eyes.

"What did I say? I warned you boy." His father said threateningly.

The next couple of minutes were a bit of a blur. Mycroft watched as his father attempted to hit Sherlock but the boy dodged his attack. Mycroft was in shock. His father would never hit Sherlock in front of him. He was also surprised that Sherlock had such good reflexes as to avoid being hit. The only way to achieve those kinds of reflexes was from practice. How much practice had he had? Mycroft felt a pang of guilt hit him in the stomach.

"Huh." He heard his brother say lightly before his father's loud voice.

"_How dare you?" _

He went for another punch but Sherlock avoided it _again_ and ran off.

Suddenly the pair took off for a wild goose chase around the house.

"_You fucking brat! Get here now!_"

Mycroft ran after them after a few thoughts as to what had just happened and got there just in time to see his little brother jumping over the banister. He skilfully rolled at the end of his decent and saluted his father. Mycroft almost laughed at his brother's antics as he ran out the door.

But the amusement ended there. He turned to his father who currently had a look of pure anger and shock across his features.

Mycroft scowled at the man. "Why on Earth did you do _that_?"

His father twisted his head in the direction of his favourite son. "You saw what he did to you. He needs that kind of thing beaten out of him."

"Turning him into a human punch bag will not help anything, father. If anything it will make it worse!"

"It's not my fault the boy is a freak! You turned out fine! He's just weird."

Mycroft looked at his father with disbelief. "Did you ever get him tested for something like autism?"

"No. No one in my family is messed up in their heads. No one in _my_ family is retarded." His voice rose with volume as he spoke.

"Of course you didn't." Mycroft said coldly. "Because you don't care that your son has been bullied his whole life, nor that he had to be sent to rehab because he became a drug addict nor that I was told by his psychiatrist that while he was there, he was scared that you were going to _kill_ him!"

"Good." His father said bluntly. "Maybe that will knock some sense into him."

Mycroft was disgusted. He had never heard something so sick come out of his father's mouth. "You do realise father that I am part of the British government. I have one of the highest authorities in this country and I'm not yet 22."

"Yes and your mother and I are very proud."

"But don't think for one _second_ that means you're safe."

"Are you _threatening_ me?" the older man asked with disbelief.

"You have been warned." And with that, Mycroft walked away from his father and to his room where he luckily kept some spare suits.

* * *

He took a quick shower and changed into another suit before leaving the estate as quickly as possible.

"Drive around London. Sherlock's run off." He said to his driver as he pulled out his phone and looked at his messages.

"Yes sir." The driver obliged and started the car.

Mycroft quickly tapped out a few replies and called his PA. He stared out the window, trying to see if he could spot the curly haired teenager.

Sherlock always carried his phone so normally this wouldn't have been too hard as he would have just used the tracker in his phone. But Sherlock had recently removed it and Mycroft hadn't had the chance to replace it yet. He had tried calling his phone but of course he was clever enough to know that if he picked up, he could easily be found.

"I need a search party to try and find Sherlock." He said down the phone "If they find him, don't approach, just keep tabs on where he's going. Tell me everything they find."

He hung up and hoped he could find him quickly. But he doubted he would considering he only had half an hour before he needed to be in that meeting.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. This was his fault. If he hadn't been so loud and got their father's attention, Sherlock wouldn't have run out that door.

"Sir," he heard his driver's voice pick up. "I'm afraid we'll have to turn back now if you want to get to your meeting on time."

Mycroft looked to the front of the car briefly and waved his hand in consent.

* * *

_Run._

That was the only thought going through Sherlock's usually frantic mind.

He had avoided getting the beating his father had been waiting for. The corners of Sherlock's mouth twisted up into a smile. He didn't know why he loved running to and from danger, but he enjoyed it. He liked the adrenaline rush going through his body and the feeling of his feet hitting the ground, forcing him forward. He liked the wind blowing in his face and the fatigue in his muscles. He didn't even mind the rain hitting his face and making him wet through.

He looked back to see no one was following him but he kept running. He needed to get out of sight in case they came looking. He ran down an alleyway and down the next street, only to crash into a woman walking in the other direction.

He stopped and helped her pick up her belongings on the floor before they got too wet. "Sorry." He said quickly and gave her the things he collected.

"It's fine, mistakes happen." She said with a smile and continued walking.

Sherlock nodded and broke out into a sprint again. He needed to avoid CCTV cameras as he knew Mycroft had access to them.

He paused while he was running through another alleyway and saw someone had their washing still outside. They were obviously out so he hopped over the fence and grabbed a hoodie off the washing line and slipped it over his head. It was sopping wet but so were the rest of his clothes so it didn't matter. He didn't care if it was stealing. It was just a piece of clothing that could easily be replaced.

He pulled the hood over his head and continued running down the alley. He heard his phone ring and he took it out.

_7 missed calls_

He opened his call history to see they were all from Mycroft.

His phone rang again but he didn't pick up as he knew Mycroft would be able to find him if he did.

So he kept running. That was all he could do at the moment.

* * *

"Mr Holmes!"

Mycroft stopped himself from groaning. He needed to go out and try and find Sherlock, not to have some small talk.

"Mr Parsons." Mycroft said bluntly, hoping to put the man off talking to him.

"I was wondering if you were attending the military strategy meeting next week."

"I am indeed but for now I am rather busy."

"Sorry to be keeping you but do you mind making a copy of your plans?"

"Fine." Fortunately Mycroft's phone rang and he immediately picked up. "Mycroft Holmes."

"Sir we have not been able to locate the whereabouts of Sherlock."

"Why not?"

"We believe he is avoiding all security cameras in the greater London area."

"He's a 14 year old boy! How have you not found him?" he said irritably. Sherlock just loved to be difficult.

"In the greatest of respects sir, London is a very large place. He could be anywhere."

"You said he was avoiding security cameras. Think about that. Look at where there are limited amounts of CCTV and search there, ask around, do anything! He must be found."

"Yes sir."

Mycroft hung up and got back into his car to continue the search.

* * *

Sherlock had stopped running by now. He was a safe distance from the Holmes estate and the rain had ceased. He looked around to make sure there was no CCTV and slipped the hoodie off to squeeze the water out.

He put it back on and continued walking. He had checked his pockets. He had his phone, £13.48 and his pocket knife he carried around everywhere.

Sherlock stopped. He knew his brother would find him eventually. But if he was going to be found, he was going to make it interesting.

He took a short walk to a local newsagent's and bought a pen and a large note pad. He looked up at the camera and winked, knowing Mycroft would be alerted of his presence if he had ordered a search party. Knowing Mycroft he probably had.

He walked to the closest underground and bought a child's ticket. They were rather cheap considering you could go anywhere in London.

* * *

"Sir we have located Sherlock."

"Where is he?" Mycroft said, half relieved, down the phone.

"Local newsagents, but he's on the move. He got on the underground. We are unsure of where he is headed."

"What did he buy?" Mycroft thought that Sherlock would not have let his guard down to buy some food. He would have known he would end up on camera.

"A pen and notepad. He also winked at the camera sir."

"He's playing a game." Mycroft said more to himself than the man on the other end of the phone.


	40. The Game

**Thanks for all the lovely reviews guys :)**

* * *

**Lost and Found**

Sherlock got off the train and made his way up the stairs and came face to face with the houses of parliament. He crossed the road so he was standing outside the grand building and located the nearest security camera. He flipped open the large notepad and wrote down 'Gvoo'. He held it up to the camera with a smile and a twitch of an eyebrow. Then he closed it again and returned to the underground.

* * *

"Sherlock has been sighted again sir." The voice down the phone said.

"Where this time?" Mycroft sat up in his seat in the car, searching the streets still.

"Outside parliament sir. He held up a piece of paper with a message."

"Well what did it say?" Mycroft snapped impatiently. He needed to be found.

"G v o o. We are trying to make sense of it."

"Well tell me when you work it out."

"Will do sir." there was a pause and some muffled voices down the end of the receiver. "Sir we've spotted him again. He's currently outside Buckingham palace... He's writing on his notepad again sir."

"Buckingham palace, go." he said to his driver.

"Yes sir." the driver said and began to head towards the palace.

"He's held up another sign sir. This time it says... 'Nbxilug'. We are unsure of its meaning at this moment in time sir."

"Okay, keep me updated." He hung up the phone and placed it back in his jacket pocket.

* * *

Sherlock lowered the sign and made his way back to the nearest station. He was starting to enjoy this. Irritating his brother was one of his favourite pastimes.

He wondered how long it would take them to figure out his code. It was a very simple one. _Very_ easy to decipher.

He got off the train and stood outside Downing Street. His brother knew Downing Street like the back of his hand. He also knew this _wasn't_ the safest most important place in London. He still needed to deduce where that really was from Mycroft…

He received a few confused looks as he held up his next message 'gl' to one of the many security cameras around.

* * *

Mycroft groaned as he approached Buckingham Palace to see his brother had taken off. He hadn't expected to see him but the irritation of not finding him already was what annoyed him.

He pulled out his phone again and called the leader of the search party.

"Anything else?"

"He's been to downing street, sir. Also to Westminster abbey. Left two messages like before. 'gl' and 'nvvg'."

"Tell me the whole message so far." Mycroft said impatiently as he slammed his car door closed behind him. He waved for his driver to go.

"Gvoo Nbxilug gl nvvg, sir. We are working on it."

"Well hurry up. He's a 14 year old boy for god's sake! He may be a child prodigy but the code can't be that complicated."

Mycroft hung up the phone in frustration. He frowned slightly. He recognised it but he didn't know what it was.

"Sherlock what are you up to?"

* * *

'nv'

4 to go.

Sherlock closed the pad and looked behind him briefly at the grand building of St Paul's cathedral before walking away.

He was starting to get bored of the underground but still, the game was interesting.

It was nearing prime time for the underground and he hoped that it wouldn't slow him down too much. If it did, Mycroft would catch up with him before he could do anything else.

He got off the train at Piccadilly Circus and held up his next sign. It was absolutely packed but he was sure his brother would see the sign.

'zg'

He looked at the camera and raised his eyebrows as if to say: 'have you worked it out yet?'.

* * *

"Sir, the message so far says 'Gvoo Nbxilug gl nvvg nv zg'."

Mycroft frowned. "Say the second word again."

"Nbxilug, sir."

"Oh Sherlock." he muttered under his breath. It had been so obvious. "That's my name. He's using the alphabet backwards, as in he's using z for a, y for b, etcetera." Mycroft shook his head. How had he not noticed that? It was obvious! He used it many times when he was younger. "Translate the rest of the message."

Sherlock was going to random landmarks in London, all of them thriving with life. He could only guess where he was going next.

* * *

Sherlock made his way to the large ship of HMS Belfast and planted his next word on the paper.

'Gldvi'

Mycroft had to have guessed the code by now. If not he was much more idiotic than he thought.

* * *

"Trafalgar Square sir."

Mycroft rubbed his eyes with a spare hand. "He must be nearly done now. What does it say?"

"'Yirwtv' sir. The whole message says 'tell Mycroft to meet me at Tower Bridge'. But he's not on the correct train that stops at Tower Bridge, sir."

"He still has one message left..."

* * *

He decided to get off at an earlier stop and walk most of the way to his penultimate destination. He hadn't walked along the Thames for a long time and so thought it could be a pleasant experience.

There were loads of people wondering around, as usual.

He saw a couple walking along with two teenage girls. The younger girl gave him a brief smile.

_Happy marriage, man's wedding ring a bit battered but that was clearly from having a laborious job where he disagreed to remove his ring because of his dedication to his wife. Judging by the state of the rings, they were quite cheap and at least 20 years old so their wedding was just after their time at university, no, her time at university, he is at least 5 years older than her. Their daughters argued a lot but they cared about each other. _

Sherlock could hardly remember the time when he and Mycroft had been like that. They weren't that close anymore.

He sighed and continued walking, finally approaching his destination. He looked at his watch.

20:07

He grabbed his pen for the last time and wrote '20:30' clearly on the page before holding it up to a security camera.

His message was complete: 'tell Mycroft to meet me at Tower bridge 20:30'.

Sherlock remembered coming here as a child. The tower of London was such a boring place to him. He didn't care about people's heads being chopped off or the crown jewels. To him it was just another building in the huge city.

He left and made his way to Tower Bridge which was only a very short walk away. He crossed the iconic bridge to the other side and sat in the familiar area of grass where he had been this time last year.

He sat patiently waiting for his brother to arrive, unsure of what he was to say to him yet. But his brother was the least of his problems. It was facing father again which made Sherlock feel uncomfortable.

* * *

"20:30 sir." The man repeated.

Mycroft looked at his watch.

20:16

He had just under 15 minutes, more than enough time to get there. He had been heading towards the boy's current destination anyway.

Mycroft looked carefully out of his window as they crossed Tower Bridge, trying to see if he could spot the familiar figure of his brother.

It didn't take him long to notice his little brother sitting on the grass to the side of the bridge. He sighed of relief to find him safe and well.

* * *

Sherlock looked at his watch to see the time was fast approaching 20:30. He tapped his feet on the ground impatiently and huffed. He looked either way to try and catch a glimpse of his brother, only to see unfamiliar faces around him. Mycroft was always so punctual and was never late. Then again, this was Mycroft he was thinking about. He did love a grand entrance and to appear at the exact time he was required to be there.

Sherlock decided not to look out for him. He laid down on the still damp grass from the rain and stared at the sky. It was not yet dark for the summer days where much longer than the winter ones. He preferred that. It meant he could do more in the day without having to bring some kind of artificial light.

"Sherlock if you're done stargazing I would like to have a serious conversation with you."

"I'm not stargazing brother. The sun has not yet set." Sherlock replied and looked briefly at his watch.

20:30

Bang on time. _How did he do that?_

Mycroft rolled his eyes and took a step closer to his younger brother. "It's an expression."

"Which you used incorrectly."

"Sherlock. I'm being serious. I'm on your side."

Sherlock scoffed. "Since when?"

Mycroft shifted on his feet. He knew he hadn't really been there for Sherlock recently. "What father tried to do to you Sherlock, it was wrong."

"Brilliant deduction Mycroft, well done." Sherlock said with a sarcastic smile at the end.

"You did the right thing to get out of there. What _you_ did wrong, however, was that you did not tell me how badly he was treating you."

"You wouldn't have done anything even if I had told you. You wouldn't want to get on father and mummy's bad side."

Mycroft thought back to his father's and his earlier conversation. He had threatened his father for his brother. He wouldn't dare try and touch him. His father knew he would get into more trouble than for just beating your child, especially considering Mycroft knew all about his 'business with the bad guys'. "I worry about you Sherlock."

Sherlock took a quick glance at his brother. "I can look after myself."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows slightly. "Are you sure about that?"

"Certain." Sherlock replied bluntly.

Mycroft nodded. "Maybe it would be better for you to stay with me for a while."

Sherlock paused. He did not want to go home, yet he did not really want to stay with Mycroft. However, the latter was the better option at this moment in time. "Fine." He mumbled in defeat.

"Shall we?" Mycroft asked as he indicated the path in front of him.

Sherlock nodded and stood up from his lying position on the ground and began to walk in the direction of his brother's outstretched hand.

"And I must say I do not approve of stealing people's clothing." Mycroft said seriously as he walked by his side.

Sherlock smiled slightly.

This was not unnoticed by Mycroft, who also smiled at his little brother.

_He was growing up so fast…_


	41. The House of Mycroft

**Once again, thanks for all the lovely reviews :)**

* * *

**The House of Mycroft**

This was the first time Sherlock had seen his brother's residence. Where he believed his brother would have ended up somewhere modern and stylish, he seemed to prefer living somewhere old fashioned, a bit like their family home. But then, Sherlock supposed the Holmes family were a bit eccentric.

It was a rather large house with 3 floors and at least 5 rooms on each floor. I was quite large for a home hardly occupied and when it was occupied, the owner was usually alone.

"Sherlock, I know you will ignore me but do not go up to the top floor." His brother warned as they entered the building. "It contains highly classified documents which only my eyes can see. And to be perfectly honest I doubt you will even be able to get in."

"Is that a bet?" Sherlock asked with a smirk.

"No Sherlock, it's a warning. There are 3 guest bedrooms upstairs or one on the ground floor. Choose one to your liking." Mycroft noticed his lack of belongings. "Maybe it would be best if I paid mummy and father a visit and try and gather some of your belongings…"

"Yeah whatever." Sherlock said as he started to climb the stairs.

"And don't you dare upset any of my staff while I'm gone."

Sherlock paused on the stairs momentarily and smiled. He turned around with his head cocked the side. "Of course not, brother dearest." He said innocently and gave him a mischievous grin before continuing his ascent up the stairs.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and let out a defeated breath. Lord knows what his brother would end up doing during his absence.

Sherlock opened a few doors and looked inside but inevitably he chose the room furthest away from Mycroft's. He didn't stay in his room for long though. He decided to have a look round the place he would be staying.

He hadn't thought about how long he would be staying for. Mycroft had said for a while but he was often busy and did not have time to stay and look after a 14 year old boy. Well, Sherlock didn't need looking after but it was one of those law things.

He made his way back downstairs and walked into the living room. There was a middle aged woman dusting at that moment in time. She spun around to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, looking around the room.

"Oh, hello dear…" she asked hesitantly. "Can I help you?"

"You're the housekeeper I presume?" Sherlock asked in reply.

"Yes, dear. And, you are?"

"Sherlock."

"Of course! I can see the resemblance now…" Sherlock grimaced slightly at her comment. "I thought he said you were 14?"

"I _am_ 14." Sherlock felt like he was talking to an idiot. _God it was tedious._

"Oh! You look much older dear. At least 16. But I suppose that's life. Children are growing up so fast these days…" she said as she continued dusting.

"Technically they're not growing up faster; their mental growth and maturity are what are developing faster."

She paused. "Yes, same difference." She turned back to him. "Sorry, I never introduced myself. My name is Ms Whitmore, but you can call me Carol. It's nice to finally meet you Sherlock."

"No it's not." Sherlock replied bluntly.

"Excuse me?" she frowned.

Sherlock sighed out of annoyance. "You don't think it's nice to '_finally_' meet me. For a start you've only been my brother's housekeeper for what, 2 months? So technically the use of the word 'finally' is incorrect for my brother would not have told you about me until you had been working here for a considerable amount of time so you cant have known about my existence for little over 4 weeks. You also find my brother insufferable, like many others, by the way you clean this house. You don't take care of his belongings while dusting so I doubt you care about anything else in the building. Plus, you presumed I would be like my brother so you have an automatic dislike towards me. Now that I'm staying here for a while also means you will have to clean another room on a daily basis so that increases your work load without being paid extra, meaning you hate me even more. You also have children of your own yet they do not live with you, hence your comment 'children are growing up so fast these days'. You haven't seen them in a while since the divorce which can be deduced clearly from the way you looked at me when I walked in. You were sad so you miss them. The divorce is clear. You wear no wedding ring and you go by the name 'Ms' rather than Mrs. Although many older women use Ms to cover up that they never married, due to the fact you have children, divorce is the more likely reason for your title." He said quickly.

Carol Whitmore stood there, wide eyed with her mouth hanging open slightly, just staring at Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked and twisted on his heel to point him in the direction of the door. "Don't worry I wont tell Mycroft." He said as he walked out the room.

_Well that was fun._ He thought to himself as he continued his tour of the ground floor. He came across his brother's study. It was full of books he could bet Mycroft probably hadn't even looked at, let alone read. His elder brother didn't have the time to read them anyway with his hectic job.

Then there was the kitchen. Unlike the rest of the house, it was rather modern, with all the latest cooking appliances and equipment. Most of it was hardly used as Mycroft was never around to use it. There were also no members of staff occupying the space, which was very different to their home as there was almost always the cook or a member of staff in the kitchen. That was probably only because they were less likely to come across his parents in there. Mycroft had no need of a cook.

Sherlock walked over to the counter in the centre of the room and picked up an apple from the fruit basket. Apples were okay. They were better than most foods and were apparently rather healthy. Whenever he was forced to eat by Mycroft of James, he would just eat an apple. It was a rare occasion that he would choose to eat one himself, but today hadn't really been a usual day.

He took a large bite of the fruit as he made his way over to the window. The sun had finally set and the outside was pure darkness. He looked at his watch.

10:02

Time was moving so slowly. It was unbearable.

He looked up to the sky to see the stars. He remembered learning about the stars and space for his physics GCSE. It had been interesting at the time but he thought it pointless to remember. It is unlikely to be important when it came to his future so he moved everything he knew about the solar system and space into his 'to be deleted' room. He thought he should probably keep it for now if he were to do physics for A level, just in case he got bored.

They were beautiful, there was no denying that, but they were useless to him. It was the same with horoscopes. Someone took the time to look at the stars and see that they make shapes. Of course Sherlock thought horoscopes to be a load of nonsense. How the stars are aligned when you are born would certainly have no affect on how you grow up and turn out to be. He was apparently a Scorpio. **Determined**** (****_yes)_****, forceful (****_can be)_****, emotional (****_God no.),_**** intuitive (****_certainly)_**, **p****owerful (****_no, that's Mycroft.)_****, passionate (****_dream on)_**, **exciting ****_(Not to many, no)_**** and magnetic (****_Well of course, everyone has a slight magnetic field…)._**

So in Sherlock's opinion, horoscopes were not of importance and rarely accurate. Those descriptions are so diverse that anyone could fit into any category.

Sherlock realised he had now eaten the apple down to the core and threw it in the bin. He wondered how long Mycroft would be. Probably not too long, he had been gone just under an hour so Sherlock predicted his return to be within the next 15 minutes.

He walked up the stairs and into the guest room in which he was staying. He thought he would tackle the challenge of going upstairs to the second floor tomorrow. That would entertain him for a little while at least.

He fell onto his bed and looked at the ceiling. It had intricate detail carved into it when the room had been first decorated and obviously no one thought it was hideous like Sherlock did, and kept it. He may have thought it ugly, yet he did not find it uninteresting. There were patterns interwoven into each other and small images were formed.

After a while it did become uninteresting but he heard the front door open and close and the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. His door opened and Mycroft stood in the doorway.

"Should have known you'd choose this room. Furthest away from mine? Very you, brother."

Sherlock looked away from the ceiling to his brother and sat up on the bed. "Of course."

Mycroft made his way into the room and put the case down by the foot of the bed. "I'm glad to see you haven't tried to break my security systems."

"Yet." Sherlock added as he opened the case to see what Mycroft had brought him.

Mycroft sighed. "I must say, mummy is very distressed with the situation."

"Good for her." Sherlock said sarcastically and noted that most of the things Mycroft had packed seemed to be from his case that he had yet to unpack at home.

"You are to stay here for no more than a week and then you shall return home. Father will be on a business trip for two weeks upon your return and so you will not be seeing him."

"And you're telling me this because?" Sherlock asked in a frustrated tone.

"It's for your own safety Sherlock." Mycroft said before leaving the room.

"I can protect myself!" Sherlock shouted after him.

"Of course dear brother!" Mycroft called back.

Sherlock heard his brother's door close and he rolled his eyes. He was going to be 15 soon. _He wasn't a small child anymore._ _Why did everyone think that?_

He unpacked the belongings from his case and changed into a pair of jogging bottoms and a t-shirt. He slipped into bed and closed his eyes.

* * *

_Run._

_That was all he could do._

_Keep running._

_Don't stop._

_He looked over his shoulder._

_He was still there._

_He was gaining on him._

"_**You fucking brat!**"_

_Sherlock could hear his voice._

_It was loud._

_Run._

_Keep running._

"_**I'm going to kill you!**"_

_He looked over his shoulder again._

_He was right behind him._

_He was so angry._

_Keep running._

_Stop and he'll get you._

"_**You're going to join that fucking butler in the ground, boy!**"_

_Jonathan._

_No._

_No no no!_

_Someone grabbed him from behind and rugby tackled him to the floor._

_It hurt. _

_He felt the cold metal barrel of a gun being pressed against his temple._

"Sherlock!"

He instinctively thrust his fist forward into the face in front of him. He heard a cry of pain as he saw his brother stumble away from him.

Sherlock sat up. He was breathing fast and was covered in a cold sweat.

_It was a nightmare._

_Only a nightmare._

He sighed of relief and moved his sweat dampened hair out of his face.

Mycroft walked back over to him cautiously, rubbing his left cheek where Sherlock had punched him. "If I'd have known you were going to attack me in your sleep I wouldn't have bothered."

Sherlock didn't apologise like he should have. It wasn't his fault that his brother had woken him.

"It's alright Sherlock. Breathe deep. Okay? It was only a nightmare."

Sherlock hadn't realised that he was shaking and his breaths were coming thick and fast.

He laid back down and covered his face with his hands, taking deep breaths.

Once Sherlock had calmed down, he turned to his brother. "How did you know?" he mumbled "How did you know I was having a nightmare?"

"You were screaming, Sherlock. Shouting and screaming at the top of your lungs. I could hear you from my room."

Sherlock felt so vulnerable. He hated it. He was screaming and having a nightmare. It was like he was a little boy, afraid of the dark.

"I'm fine now. Go away." He said as he curled up in his duvet, turning away from his brother.

Mycroft looked at his brother with sad eyes before leaving the boy in peace. He had never seen him look so out of control of his own emotions, not since they went to the graveyard. Sherlock kept letting his guard down. He was okay with most things. It was only when their father or Jonathan were mentioned that his control was destroyed. Sherlock always tried to keep himself distant from the world to try and stop himself getting hurt. Now his own mind was acting against him. He wouldn't be surprised if his little brother disagreed to sleep for a while. But then again, Sherlock disagreed to sleep most nights anyway, claiming he didn't _need_ to sleep. Luckily James had managed to make him get enough sleep during his time at the school.

And the next morning, as he had predicted, Sherlock had been awake for the rest of the night, just staring at the wall. He hadn't moved an inch since Mycroft had left him. And when Mycroft returned from work, he was still an unanimated figure lying in his bed.

He hadn't even tried to break into the top floor.


	42. Julie Holmes

**Next chapter up for you :) thanks again for the reviews! And a big hello to all the new followers of this story :) Oh yes, and a happy birthday to Mr Benedict Cumberbatch! 36 today :) anyway, enjoy!**

* * *

**Julie Holmes**

"I hope you slept well, brother." Mycroft said as Sherlock walked sleepily into the kitchen still in his pyjamas.

"Hm." Sherlock replied and picked up an apple, taking a bite. It was easier to just eat than argue with Mycroft on the matter. Besides, he was too tired to argue anyway. Last night was the only night he fully slept through after the incident. He had had three other nightmares while he resided there and Mycroft was only aware of one. The other nights he closed his eyes but sleep never came. Last night though, he had his usual sleeping pattern, where it just felt like he blinked and hours had passed.

"You'll have to get changed. The car to take you home will be arriving in just under 2 hours."

"Hm." Sherlock said again through a mouthful of apple.

"My my Sherlock. You can talk and talk for England but when it comes to conversing, that's a completely different matter."

"Why does that matter?"

Mycroft smiled slightly. "Social skills are your way forward in life."

Sherlock groaned. _God not this speech again._

"It's all about talking to the right people, saying the right thing at the right time in the right place. How else do you think I got into my position in little under 2 years?"

"By taking advantage of people and stabbing them in the back?"

Mycroft didn't look amused. "No, not exactly."

"If you say so brother." Sherlock said and threw the apple core in the bin. He turned to leave.

"Make sure you wear something nice. Mummy will want to see you at your best."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and walked out the room. He looked into the study to see Carol cleaning. She gave him a weary look.

"Is it true you're leaving today?" she asked.

"Yes." Sherlock replied bluntly and continued walking.

He could tell she was relieved at his departure. The pair hadn't really got along and he was sure the woman now appreciated Mycroft a lot more, purely because he had better morals and respect than his little brother.

He walked up the stairs and into his room where he quickly got changed and packed his things.

* * *

Sherlock got out the car and walked up to the Holmes Estate to be greeted by his mother.

"Sherlock, you should not run off like that. It is highly dangerous and irresponsible." She said as he approached.

"Yes, like you've ever cared before…" Sherlock muttered under his breath. Mycroft heard him and gave him a cold glare.

"Mummy." Mycroft said with a smile.

"And why did you take him in, Mycroft? I've been alone for three days, without any boys for company."

Sherlock was a bit confused. Since when has his mother wanted attention from her sons?

"I apologise, mummy. But Sherlock's here for you now."

She put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and squeezed it uncomfortably. Sherlock grimaced at the contact.

"You are forgiven this time." The woman said before turning towards the building. "Come inside for tea."

"I'm afraid I have to pass, mummy. I have an important meeting with the prime minister."

"Send him my love." She said sarcastically and practically pushed Sherlock inside the house. "Say goodbye to your brother Sherlock."

"Later Mycroft." Sherlock used his name rather than 'traitor' for abandoning him to have tea with his mother by himself.

"Goodbye Sherlock, Mummy." His brother said before returning to his car.

Julie Holmes closed the door behind her and turned to her son. She looked him up and down and grabbed his chin, turning his head to the left and the right as if she was inspecting him. Sherlock frowned slightly at his mother's actions.

At some point he had overtaken her in height. She was a tall woman of around 5 foot 10 inches and dark curly hair. She also needed to get her hair dyed again for her grey roots were beginning to show. She had also aged quite a bit in his absence. He hadn't looked at her properly in years. Sherlock had received his features from his mother, whereas Mycroft looked more like their father.

"Hm." She said, as if satisfied and walked towards the main living area, expecting him to follow.

Sherlock put down his case and rubbed a hand through his hair before following her in.

Sherlock hesitated in the doorway, unsure of what to do next. He hadn't been in this part of the estate for years. He noticed it had been redecorated twice since his last visit to the room.

"Take a seat." She said and gestured towards the sofa opposite to her armchair.

Sherlock complied and sat down, loosening his tie slightly. He hated ties. Why had Mycroft forced him into wearing a suit? It was_ pointless._

"How do you take your tea?"

"Black, two sugars."

"I'll have to knock that out of you." She said as she put the sugar in his tea. "Too much sugar is bad for your health." _Since when did she care about his health? Since when did she __**care**__?_

"And yet milk is fattening and you still add it." Sherlock said in reply.

"How is school? I trust your grades are staying high. I have yet to see your report."

"Yes." Sherlock said simply.

Sherlock took the tea from her hands and had a sip. It was decaf. He hated decaf but drank it anyway.

"Good, very good. And how about contacts? Have you managed to establish any relationships to assist you in the future?"

Sherlock looked at his mother with disgust. She sounded so much like Mycroft in this moment in time. "No."

"Shame. They really help, you know. Just look at Mycroft. He is just one of many success stories. The same happened to your uncle Jeremy."

"Yes, sorry I'm not like your little golden boy." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Now, Sherlock," said his mother as she poured some tea for herself, completely ignoring his last comment. "I do not condone your drug taking habits and I am glad to hear they have ceased. What compelled you to begin in the first place?"

_Jonathan. _Sherlock wanted to say. _I couldn't handle his death._ "I was bored." He said simply. He wasn't lying. He did take them sometimes because he was bored.

"Sherlock, you, like your brother and myself, possess the famous Bailey mind. It runs in my side of the family. I know how the boredom gets to you. Taking recreational drugs and smoking does not assist the matter. But I can also tell you are lying."

"How?" Sherlock frowned.

"I know that your drug use correlates with the timing of our old butler's death. Sherlock you must stay detached from your emotions, until you learn to control them like I have. With minds like ours, emotions will drive you to madness at your age. They are much stronger, more emphasised. You may think that drugs dull the frantic mind down, but afterwards it just speeds up again and you can't keep up and handle it." She took a sip of her tea.

"Well he was more a father to me." Sherlock said honestly. This woman seemed much more like his mother than he thought. Their similarities were showing through. He didn't mention that the drugs _did_ help, that they _did _slow his mind down and he _did_ still keep up with his mind afterwards.

"You have a father who is alive and well." She stated simply and put down her teacup.

"Yes, but it is clear neither of us have any affection towards him."

"Do not speak that way."

"Why not? You don't love him. You never have. You said it yourself; we have to stay detached from our emotions. You were just in it for the money, for the fame and power. But he loved you, until you poisoned his mind. Out there they see the perfect little rich family. But no, it's really falling apart at the seams. And why shouldn't I hate him? He hates me, and so do you and Mycroft, and I most certainly hate him too."

"Well then you are clearly not using your observational skills to their full potential. Your brother and I care for you. We may not express it but we do. And I have control of my emotions now. I learnt how to handle them."

"You only care about my grades and how well I am doing at school."

"Or else you will have no future. I care about how my offspring will turn out." She didn't deny it so Sherlock knew it was true.

"Yet I do not need these petty grades. I'm going to be a consulting detective. I will work alone. I do not need grades to be employed by _myself_."

"Consulting detective? There is no such thing. No, you are going into politics like your brother."

"What makes you say that?" he asked with anger and disbelief. This woman was planning his whole life without his input. Mycroft may have been subjected to her plans but he certainly wasn't going down without a fight.

"That is where everything lays, Sherlock. You also have a leg up with Mycroft already very high up in the system."

"What if I don't want to go into politics?"

"You _will_ Sherlock. You have no choice."

"What if I say no?"

"Then I shall be very upset and tell your father."

Sherlock froze momentarily. "And then what? Make him beat it out of me?"

"If that is the only way forward then yes."

Sherlock looked into her eyes, those eyes so similar to his own. "Then I won't go down without a fight. If my cold dead body is the result, then so be it. I will not let you control my life. It is my own and I shall do what I wish." He could feel the anger building up inside him.

"And then when you fail, which you will, you will come crawling back to us, demanding help and money. We shall deny you of it when the event arises."

"I won't need your help. I will be a success."

"With a job that does not exist? Of course you will dear."

"You just watch me." He stood. "It's nice to know my '_family_'" he said the word with disgust "have so much _faith_ in me." He said through gritted teeth and walked out the room.

"You need to learn to control your anger if you ever want to get anywhere." She called after him. "Consulting detective or not, anger will not help."

Annoyingly, she was right.

Thing was, Sherlock could control his emotions and anger without her advice. He had been doing it for years before she was even aware. He only lost it when his father was mentioned or something was really bugging him. Not like the insults at school, he could just brush them off his shoulder, but things that confused him. He hated to be confused, but loved the feeling of something close to euphoria when he solved his confusion. That's why he loved puzzles. He also liked the chase. The adrenaline rush he got when in a dangerous position was exhilarating.

His classmates were right about one thing. He was a junkie, an adrenaline junkie.


	43. Relatives

**Over 200 reviews? wow. Thank you so much! Unfortunately this might be the last chapter for quite a while. But in the meantime I would recommend reading some other fics. I'll write some suggestions at the bottom of the page because I feel bad for abandoning you…**

* * *

**Relatives**

Life at home was so boring.

None of the staff liked him nor were any of them new. He couldn't bear the awkward afternoon tea with his mother. He hated meal times, for he was rarely hungry and they were also often spent with his mother.

The worst thing though, was that none of his science equipment had been returned.

All he did was stay in his room all day until he was forced into doing something. He wouldn't risk going downstairs and facing his mother.

He had taken all of Mycroft's old workbooks from his time at Marina and completed them. He had changed the time on all the clocks around the building and set their alarms to go off at a certain time, much to the annoyance of everyone in the household. He had found his old rubix cube he was given for Christmas 7 years ago and completed it within 30 seconds, 24 times. He experimented how long it would take for some of his brother's possessions to hit the ground from the top floor (it varied from 1.36 - 4.09 seconds, depending on the mass, shape and size of the object). He had named each part of the skull he possessed. He also named all the bones in his hand. He attempted to make a parachute out of all the hideous clothes his mother wanted him to wear, only to find it didn't work too well and he twisted his ankle on landing. He annoyed a spider in his shower by randomly spraying water on it. He worked out the exact force required for a ball to bounce on his floor, on his wall and back into his hand again without much effort.

He had only been back 2 days.

It was unbearable.

_Bored. Bored. Bored._

He sat up from his bed and looked outside.

He missed his science equipment dearly. It was the only thing that kept him sane while here.

_Bloody Mycroft._

_Science equipment._

_Of course! Why hadn't he thought of it before?_

Sherlock leapt off of his bed and out the door. He ran down the corridor and down the stairs, bumping into several members of staff along the way. He paused to hear where his mother was. Study. He was safe. He continued running out to the garden.

The warm summer's air hit him as soon as he opened the door and sprinted outside. He brushed his curls out of his face and smiled as he stopped outside the abandoned building.

He pushed the ivy out the way and pulled the door open wide enough for him to fit through.

It was brighter than last time. The sun was shining outside and the glass vials and other equipment reflected the light around the room.

He looked at the equipment before him. It was outdated yet it was useful and built to last.

Everything, however, was caked in dust and cobwebs. After being deserted for 30 years, Sherlock couldn't deny it needed to be cleaned. Normally he would just get a member of staff to clean it for him but they cannot know of his activities here. They would tell his mother instantly. He would have to do it himself.

But he didn't really know how.

At home, the staff cleaned after him. At school, James would normally clear away things that got in his way and there was a cleaner every fortnight. He only knew how to clean up dangerous chemicals. He had deleted trivial things such as dusting years ago.

He had seen others do it though. Normally they had a duster or some polish and a cloth. He could do that. He didn't want to do it but he needed to so he could get enjoyment out of the room. It would also need sweeping. The floor was incredibly dirty.

He made a temporary list of things he believed he would need to clean up the room and departed for the house once more.

* * *

A couple of hours later, the room was almost spotless. Sherlock smiled at his efforts before slumping down into an old chair sitting in the corner. He was very surprised to find there were no traces of rat or mouse infestations and so was glad he did not have to acquire rat poison.

He noticed the sun was getting lower in the sky so he judged the time to be mid evening. He did not want to leave his new lab but he knew he must to avoid suspicion. He wasn't too fazed by having to leave though. He had the whole summer ahead of him to use it.

He snuck back into the house and put away the cleaning products unnoticed. He glanced at his watch to see that he had 15 minutes before dinner.

He quickly changed his clothes and did his hair to look more clean and normal. He slipped on his grey jumper and walked towards the dining room.

"Ah brother, there you are."

Sherlock turned on his heel. "And I thought I got rid of you." Sherlock replied in a sullen tone.

"Yet you thought wrong." Mycroft said as he took his slow steps towards his younger brother. "I am here for a family visit."

"You saw mummy and I the other day." Sherlock snapped.

"Indeed I did, but I am not here to visit you and mummy."

"Then who?"

"Mummy informed me that Uncle Jeremy and family will be visiting tomorrow for afternoon tea, so I decided to pop along and see them." he finished with a smile.

Sherlock groaned. Uncle Jeremy Holmes. He was his father's very successful younger brother. The man himself was tolerable for he had an interest in Sherlock's behaviour and found him quite unique, but his two daughters were yet another addition to Sherlock's list of enemies. Verity and Emilia Holmes. Verity was 4 months younger than himself and Emilia was just over 2 years younger than him. They were two of the most stuck up, annoying children he had ever met.

He had been fortunate enough not to have seen the family for over 5 years, yet he believed they would have hardly changed, apart from age of course.

"No use sulking Sherlock. They shall arrive at 2 o'clock and you will be there to greet them. Mummy expects you to wear your best suit-"

"And what if I don't?"

"Then you can greet them in your underwear."

Sherlock glared at him.

"And try to be nice, Sherlock. They are our family."

"I'll just be myself."

"Sherlock." Mycroft warned as his mother walked out of the main room to head to the dining room herself.

"Be sure to wear your best tie, brother dear." Sherlock said clearly. "Oh! How about that one mummy gave you last Christmas? You know, the pink one with the white terriers on it."

"Oh Mycroft, do." their mother piped up. "It looked so nice on you. I insist you wear it."

"Yes Mycroft, mummy insists." Sherlock said with an amused grin.

Mycroft gave his little brother a quick look of pure hatred before turning to his mother and giving her a fake smile. "Of course."

"Lovely." she said and walked ahead of them into the dining room.

"I'll wear a suit if you wear that tie." Sherlock stated simply.

"Fine." Mycroft said through gritted teeth.

* * *

Sherlock walked down the stairs at 2 o'clock, as agreed and failed to hide the smirk at his brother's tie.

"I thought you said you would wear a suit." Mycroft quietly said in an agitated tone.

"I am wearing a suit. I'm wearing a blouse, some black suit trousers, and a black suit jacket." Sherlock replied.

"Yet you are not wearing a tie to complete the look."

"I hate ties."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and waited by his mother's side as their butler opened the door. Sherlock thrust his hands in his pocket and couldn't prevent the agitated frown forming on his face.

"Julie, how are you?" Jeremy asked as he took her hand and kissed it delicately.

"I am glad to see you all." Julie Holmes replied before turning to his wife. "Sharon, I do hope you are well."

"Indeed I am." she said as they kissed each other's cheeks.

"And girls, you are growing up so fast. You will soon be very fine young women." she said finally. Sherlock grimaced slightly. God he hated them.

"Thank you Aunt Julie." Verity said on behalf of her sister and herself.

"Mycroft." Jeremy said warmly as he shook the young man's hand. He smiled at the British government with admiration.

"Uncle Jeremy. It's good to see you." Mycroft replied with the same warmth.

"As it is to see you." Jeremy turned and looked at his younger nephew. "Sherlock." he said bluntly, minus the friendliness he gave towards Mycroft, but he still tried to keep the warmth. He knew his uncle was not too fond of him, but he still treated him how a family member should, which was very rare.

"Uncle." Sherlock said as they shook hands.

"It's good to see you're back on the mend."

"I was never broken." he said simply.

"Sherlock stay with your cousins while we catch up." his mother said.

The man smiled sadly as he walked through to the main living area with his wife and Mycroft behind Mrs Holmes.

"It's a shame my brother isn't here."

"I'm afraid he's away on a business trip-" was all Sherlock heard his uncle and mother say before they closed the door, leaving him alone with his two least favourite cousins.

"Did you see Mycroft's tie?" Emilia giggled.

"I know! I never thought I'd see Mycroft wear pink..."

"That would be my handiwork thank you very much." Sherlock said in a monotonous tone, hands still in pockets, fingering the cigarette and lighter hidden in them. He was gasping for one.

"So, Sherlock." said Verity in a bored tone. "I have not had the pleasure of seeing you since you were 9-"

"Stop it." Sherlock snapped.

"Stop what?" she crossed her arms.

"I know you don't talk like that. It's far too formal for a teenager to speak like that."

"You can talk." spoke up Emilia, her blonde curls bobbing around. She mimicked his voice poorly, "Far too formal."

Verity giggled. "She's right you know. Posh boy."

"I am not posh." Sherlock said simply.

"No, you're right. Posh boys don't do drugs."

"And good 'daddy's little girls' don't have secret boyfriends."

"How did you know about that?" she shouted in a whisper.

"Your necklace."

"Her necklace?" Emilia asked, not believing a word he was saying.

"Yes, her necklace. It just screams romantic attachment. It's not as expensive as the rest of your possessions and clothing which have been bought by 'daddy' so it's clearly not from him. In the shape of a heart, so love. It also lies near your breasts so whoever gave it to you clearly likes to look at them for their own pleasure."

Slap.

"What was that for?" Sherlock frowned. He didn't flinch to the blow to his face, just blinked.

"For saying my boyfriend is only dating me for my tits!" she said and slapped him again, slightly harder that time but it didn't affect Sherlock one bit.

"You're such a waste of space you drug taking idiot!" said Emilia angrily, defending her sister to the death.

"Shut up Emilia. You probably can't even remember me properly. The last time you saw me, you were 7. Oh yeah, and get better insults. I've heard much worse."

That was Emilia's chance to slap him. Not in the face though, she was too short, so she hit him in the arm.

Sherlock looked down to where she had hit him and smiled. "That's where I injected the heroin." he stated simply.

The pair gave him a look of disgust.

"You are sick." Verity said while shaking her head.

"I hear that is common slang for 'cool' so I'll take that as a compliment." Sherlock said as he span on his heel and began walking away from the pair.

"You can't just leave us alone! We're guests! You're supposed to entertain us!" Emilia shouted angrily after him.

"Then by all means follow. You can be my lab rats." Sherlock said over his shoulder.

Thankfully they didn't follow.

* * *

"So Sherlock," his uncle said. "I hear you have already taken most of your GCSEs?"

"Yes, I plan on taking them all to a level." he replied after finishing his mouthful of food.

"Good, very good. You will have a fantastic CV, I must say."

"So I have been told. But they will not be necessary."

"Oh?"

Opposite him, Mycroft gave Sherlock a warning look. If he were speaking, he would probably be saying something along the lines of 'shut up Sherlock. Don't upset mummy.'

Sherlock ignored him. "I'm going to be a consulting detective."

Jeremy Holmes furrowed his brows. "I am not aware of that occupation. Anyway your mother said you were interested in politics."

"Well then mummy is wrong." she said bluntly. "And of course you're not aware of its existence, I invented the job."

"Sherlock." Mycroft warned. Sherlock glanced to his right to see his mother sitting at the head of the table giving him the same look as Mycroft.

"And what does this job entail?" Jeremy asked, unfazed by his first comment. He was genuinely interested in what the boy had to say.

"Well," Sherlock finished off another bite of his dinner. "Whenever the police cannot complete their jobs, they can come and ask me to solve it for them. I could also be a private detective on the side but most of their cases are boring. 'who kidnapped my cat?' 'who broke my car windscreen?'. Dull." Sherlock took another mouthful of the barely tolerable pike of food in front of him. He saw Verity and Emilia glare at him from the corner of his eye.

"What kind of crimes would you be interested in?" Sharon spoke up.

"Interesting ones. Clever ones. Mainly murders. Nothing beats a clever, violent, serial killer." Sherlock said as if it was the most normal thing in the world. He continued eating while everyone looked at him in shock, apart from Mycroft who just shook his head disapprovingly.

"I would like you not to press the matter of Sherlock's current ambition." his mother spoke up. "Do remember he did want to be a pirate. This is just a phase. We cannot take him seriously. I'm sure it's just the drugs talking. I hear they still affect you long after they have been taken."

"Yes for a few _hours_, not months. Honestly mummy, I thought you were supposed to be clever." Sherlock snapped.

"Sherlock!" shouted Mycroft. "Just because father isn't here, doesn't mean you can run wild!" he added in more of a hushed tone.

"Yes but if father was here I'd be running around the streets of London escaping him. Again." Sherlock stopped eating, he formed his fingers into a steeple and sat back in his chair, daring his brother to continue the conversation in front of their uncle.

"Sherlock I think it would be best if you go to your room." Mycroft said calmly.

"Finally!" Sherlock almost shouted and stood abruptly. "Goodbye uncle, aunt, dear cousins." he turned on his heel and walked out the room, smirking at the stunned silence he left behind due to his behaviour.

He climbed the stairs and entered his room. Even though he had been bored here for the last 3 days, he would rather be alone in his room than downstairs with his family.

Alone was good.

Alone was best.

Alone was all he had.

* * *

**I don't know what you're all into but I like these stories :)**

**Fic Recommendations:**

**Myopia – StoneWingedAngel - Sally Donovan wakes trapped inside a small room, alone apart from the person she least wants to see – Sherlock Holmes. Whoever's put her there certainly has something in store for both of them - the question is whether they can pull together and get out alive. Established Sherlock/John throughout.**

**Of time lords, detectives and philosopher stones – 13tash07 - POTTERWHOLOCK AU! Sherlock Holmes is about to start his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, alongside Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. But what is going on at the school, and who is John Smith? Based on Book 1 of HP, with Sherlock's Sherlock Holmes and a strange young version of the tenth Doctor...**

**Parents – neverintendedtoexsist - John and Sherlock have been married for 2 years, and this is a series of Drabbles on their life as parents. Lots of fluff!**

**The Box – kate221B - A teenage Sherlock wakes up in a hospital room with no memory of how he got there. Is it a conspiracy, or is he really ill?**

**The plan – eohippus - The game the consultig criminal has played with the consulting detective has ended. Sherlock goes into hiding to complete his mission, untangling the plan of Moriarty s financial network, meeting new foes, Mycroft being his only confidant. Post-RB / REVIEWS CONTAIN SPOILERS!**

**The Movement of Bees (sequel to 'the plan') – eohippus - Sherlock returns, broken. His brother has lost all faith in him, as has John. How will they bring down Moran with even more difficulties waiting in the background? Post-RB, post-Hiatus.**

**So yeah. Those are just some of the brilliant fics on here. Enjoy :)**


	44. Code Number 66957

**Hi guys! Sorry I've been away for so long. My laptop is broken so I can't update! I'll be able to start updating again soon when I get a new one. I've stolen my sister's laptop while she's out so you can at least get this chapter today. I should be able to start updating on a regular basis by September. Thanks for being so patient!**

* * *

**Code Number 66957**

Sherlock stood alone in his lab. Alone was how it should be. If there was anyone else there, he would be forced to return to the house and all his work would be for nothing. He was currently seeing how blood was affected by different metals. It was a pretty basic experiment and he only had his own sample of blood, but it was better than no experiment at all. He would need to steal some supplies from school to bring home with him to do more complex experiments.

He made his final 'notes' about the experiment in his mind palace before making his way back to the main building. He moved his hair out of his eyes and closed the door quietly behind him.

"Hello, boy."

Sherlock froze. He looked up to see the familiar face of his father.

And he was angry.

* * *

Mycroft sat back in his car seat and twisted his umbrella in his hand. His family were not expecting him home but he knew their father was returning later today. Sherlock wouldn't want him there but Mycroft knew his father wouldn't dare lay a finger on his brother if he was present. Not after last time.

He had been informed that his father had managed to catch an earlier flight and so he had rescheduled the day's meetings for another time. Thankfully he only had one with the health secretary and that could wait.

He put away his mobile phone as his car pulled up the driveway. He looked at the grand building which was the Holmes Estate. Although his father was in no means a good man, he most certainly had an eye for beautiful buildings.

* * *

"Don't even bother trying to run." his father said coldly as he grabbed Sherlock firmly by the arm before he could move away. "Mycroft isn't here to save you this time."

_Mycroft._

Sherlock slowly moved his hand towards his trouser pocket, but before he could reach his phone, his father grabbed his other arm and slammed the boy against the wall.

No way out.

He was trapped.

All Sherlock could do was close his eyes and accept the pain which was about to follow.

* * *

Mycroft whistled lightly as he walked up to the front door. He rang the doorbell and waited to be allowed in.

The door opened and a young maid stood in the doorway.

"Master Mycroft, sir. The family aren't expecting you, sir. Madam left for town half an hour ago, sir." She said.

Mycroft frowned. The girl looked worried, she hid it well, but it was clear something was very wrong. "What is going on?" Mycroft asked as he made his way into his old home.

"It's not my place to say, sir, but it's the master, sir, and master Sherlock, sir."

Mycroft's face paled as he put down his coat and umbrella while listening to her words. "Where are they?"

"Back door by the kitchen, sir. Please hurry, sir!"

Mycroft strode quickly away from the young woman towards the incident taking place.

* * *

This was it. He was going to die.

Sherlock was curled up in a ball on the ground, protecting his stomach and head, even though it was too late. He felt the blood tricking through his hands and drying in his hair. His chest felt like it was being consistently stabbed each time he moved. Everything hurt.

He stayed there, feeling less and less pain as time went on. He just felt numb.

There was a sudden kick to his chest and a loud crack. He couldn't feel any more pain but his breathing became more and more difficult. There was a loud throbbing in his head, like drums, distracting him from thinking straight. He couldn't focus. Whenever he dared open his eyes, everything was blurry and bright.

They say before death you see your life flash before your eyes.

They were wrong.

Sherlock didn't see anything, but he supposed they were half right. His current situation had occurred many times before and so it was like a song stuck on repeat. It was just the same thing every time. Except this time, he knew he wouldn't wake up.

He almost felt he would be glad if this was the end. He would never have to experience this pain ever again. It would almost be a blessing. No one would miss him anyway. His death wouldn't affect anyone.

He could hear his father's voice shout abuse at him but couldn't understand him over the ringing in his ears.

He coughed and could instantly recognise the metallic taste of his own blood.

And then it stopped.

He could hear distant voices. He opened his eyes a crack to see the familiar figure of Mycroft before his body finally gave in and he lost consciousness.

* * *

The first thing Mycroft saw as he walked in, was his father's body looming over Sherlock's.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" Mycroft shouted at his father.

The older man stopped hitting and kicking the boy and turned to his elder son. Mycroft could see his little brother's blood all over his hands and the tiled white floor. It made him sick to the stomach.

"He deserved it." His father spat out and walked away.

Mycroft would have followed him but right now his brother was far more important. He knelt down beside his body and grabbed his wrist. There was a pulse but it was weak, _very_ weak.

"Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?" he asked as he got out his mobile with shaking hands. He got no response. He carefully twisted his brother's head to the side so that the blood in his mouth wouldn't coke him, hoping he wasn't causing more damage.

Mycroft quickly dialled 999 and held up the phone to his ear. "Code number 66957." He said before being immediately reconnected.

"Mr Holmes, what service do you require?" a female voice said down the phone.

"Ambulance. Holmes Estate. Back door. Get here now!" he almost shouted as he hung up the phone.

All he could do was wait for the ambulance to arrive. He kept his hand on Sherlock's wrist, making sure the pulse was still there.

If only he'd got there earlier. He would have been okay. He would have been able to stop him. Sherlock would have been _safe_.

* * *

Sherlock opened his eyes.

Here he was again.

Hospitals were becoming a third home to him, after his real 'home' and school.

"Welcome back to reality brother." Mycroft said next to him.

Sherlock flicked his eyes to the side to see his brother sitting there, as usual.

"How long was I out for this time?" Sherlock said as he tried to move into a more comfortable position, only to find a harsh pain in his chest which caused him to wince.

"That would be your punctured lung." Mycroft said, referring to the pain Sherlock just experienced. "You left us for a few hours."

"My head hurts…" Sherlock said as he touched the back of his head to find stitches on his scalp.

"Yes, you also cracked your skull open."

Sherlock looked at his brother. _Tense, keeps shifting position, tighter grip on umbrella than usual. _"There's something you're not telling me."

Mycroft nodded solemnly "Sherlock," he began, choosing his words carefully. "While you were unconscious, your heart stopped for 49 seconds."

"In other words, I died." Sherlock said bluntly, unfazed by what Mycroft had just told him."

"Yes."

"Then _why_ didn't you just leave it that way?" Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft was almost speechless. Did his brother _really_ just say that?

"Sherlock?"

"Dying would be much easier than living." Sherlock said simply and reached out for the glass of water by his side, only to see two of his fingers taped together, obviously one of them was broken, and a bandage around his wrist. He must have fractured it on impact with the floor.

"Do you mean that Sherlock, do you really mean it?"

"Hm." Was all Sherlock said on the matter, before taking a sip of water. "How long do I have to stay here this time?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft obeyed his silent wish to not speak about dying and switched to Sherlock's new topic of conversation. "At least 2 weeks-"

"What?" Sherlock said and sighed dramatically, instantly regretting it after getting a sharp pain in his chest.

"They need to make sure you're on the road to recovery. They will let you out before your lung is fully healed but you will need to be _careful._ I do, however, know what you're like and so I believe you should stay until the school term begins again, where you will visit the nurse each day for a check up."

Throughout Mycroft's little speech Sherlock groaned out of annoyance. "And what if I don't?" he said irritably.

"Then you can stay _here_ until you have fully recovered."

"Mycroft stop fussing. You're not my mother!"

"_Our_ mother, Sherlock." He said as he stood. "I will just go and inform your doctor that you have woken up."

Sherlock paused a moment before speaking. "Do they know, Mycroft? The doctors, do they know why I'm here?"

Mycroft froze for a second with his hand on the door handle. "Some things are best kept secret, Sherlock." He said finally and left the room.

* * *

"You're very brave, you know Sherlock?" the nurse said as she replaced the IV in his arm.

"Why do you say that?" Sherlock said as he read another page in his book: 'the history of London'. He was currently on the blitz. Apparently, they knew the Germans were going to comb Coventry, but they let it happen anyway, so the Germans didn't know they had leaked the information.

"Most people your age would find this very traumatic and stressful. You're as cool as a cucumber!" she said with a smile.

"Yes, well, I've been through this many times before…" he said before realising it.

The nurse smiled at him sadly. "Now, are you going to eat today?" She asked cheerfully, trying to change the subject, to which Sherlock was thankful.

"Can I have an apple?"

"An apple a day keeps the doctor away, eh?" she said with a laugh. "I'll see what I can do."

The nurse left the room and Sherlock slammed his book shut. He was so bored. He prodded himself in the chest to see how much it hurt today. Not too bad, better than yesterday.

He had been there for almost 3 weeks now. They would have to discharge him soon or else he would not make it back to school in time for the new school year.

"They're going to let you out tomorrow." The nurse said as she returned, as if she had just been reading his thoughts.

"How do you know?" he asked inquisitively, staring out the window.

"You're doctor just told me to tell you." She said as he put the apple in his hand "He's too busy with another patient at the moment. Poor girl. She's been hit by a car. The driver just drove off, leaving her to die." She shook her head sadly. "You get some very unpleasant people in this world." She smiled sadly at him. "Eat up. You'll need your strength for when you return to school."

"Thank you, Clara." He said and took a bite of his apple.

"You're very welcome Sherlock." She replied as she left the room. That was the first time Sherlock had thanked anyone working there. He rarely even spoke to the staff there, so the last thing she expected was for him to bother knowing his name.

The thought put a smile on her face for the rest of the day.


	45. Assistant

**Hello one and all. So, I have a new laptop, that's all good, but I don't have Microsoft word so that means hardly any writing :( Also, when I start doing regular updates again, I'll be updating weekly rather than daily because I'm just starting my A levels and so they'd come first... Sorry guys :(**

* * *

**Assistant**

Sherlock stepped into his dorm room. He smiled contentedly at the new rooms. Now that he and James were now in the senior section of the school, they had new dorm layouts. There was a living space, complete with armchairs, a TV and a desk for each student, and a bedroom each, both with an en suite. There was also a small fridge freezer and a kettle in each dorm, just in case they wanted to keep food in the rooms. Apparently, rather than wasting precious time going down to the canteen they could stay in their dorm rooms to do more work for their coursework or upcoming exams. Now they were older, _apparently_ they could be trusted more.

Sherlock knew this wasn't the case.

Most students would store alcohol in the fridges and hide it when their rooms were inspected. The inspections were never very thorough though. Pretty much everyone got away with what they were hiding.

Sherlock sat down in one of the armchairs and put down his crutch to rest his sprained ankle. He didn't even know _how_he sprained it but he did somehow. He could see his reflection in the mirror on the wall. He had put on weight since being forced to eat in hospital and so looked healthier. He was still recovering though. His skull was still repairing itself, his ankle still hurt and his punctured lung and broken ribs caused him a lot of annoyance. Every cut and bruise on his face had cleared up without leaving any scars so he looked almost normal, apart from the obvious.

James soon walked in.

"Hey Sherlock. You alright?" he said matter-of-factly. Obviously Mycroft had informed him of the events. But how much he had told him was unknown.

"I suppose." Sherlock replied.

"You have to go to the year's first assembly this year."

Sherlock frowned. "What? Why?"

"Because Mr Crey wants to see you afterwards so he'll be keeping an eye out for you, especially considering you're kind of disabled at the moment."

"I'm not disabled. I'm merely restricted."

"Right okay." James said as he moved towards the bedrooms. "You chosen one yet?"

"One on the left." Sherlock said with a small wave gesturing his choice.

James picked up Sherlock's case as well as his. "I'll put this in for you."

"Thanks…" Sherlock mumbled. He coughed and felt a sharp pain in his chest. He winced and put his hand to his chest.

"Are you alright?" James asked, concerned.

"Yeah." Sherlock sniffed nonchalantly and shifted position. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you've cracked your skull and punctured your lung, just to name 2?"

"How much has Mycroft told you?" Sherlock asked with suspicion.

"Just that you got into an accident and the injuries you have."

"Hm." He hadn't told him about his father. Surprise surprise.

"We have an hour. I'm going to unpack."

"Hm."

James shook his head. Sherlock's speaking habits confused him sometimes.

* * *

Sherlock tapped his good foot impatiently as he waited for Mr Crey to finish. The headmaster kept looking at him as if making sure he was still there.

"And finally, I hope you all have a good year. Do well in your exams, try your hardest. One last thing before I go, can Sherlock Holmes please come and see me in my office after assembly. Thank you. You may all leave." Mr Crey said before walking away from the microphone.

Most of the school body looked in his direction, apart from the first years who did not yet know of his existence nor the many rumours about him. He heard the familiar voice of Sally Donovan from behind him.

"It's freak's first day back and already he's in trouble. Why am I not surprised?"

Sherlock was one of the first to stand and walked out the hall on his crutch. Most of his year just stayed sitting and watched his figure leave the hall, wondering why he had been injured. Already they were forming rumours in their heads.

_Got into a fight with a drug dealer. Was caught stealing and was beaten up by the owner of the house. He jumped off a building, attempting suicide. _

Sherlock made his way to the headmaster's office and knocked on the door.

"Come in!" he heard Mr Crey call from inside.

He opened the door and walked in.

"Ah! Sherlock, take a seat." He said and gestured towards the chair in front of him. "I trust you've made a list like last year?"

Sherlock sat down, thankful for the break on his foot. "Yes." He took out a piece of paper from his pocket and passed it to the man.

Mr Crey read through the page and nodded. "I'll see what I can do." He said with a smile. "Now, one reason I want to see you if that your classmates will be taking GCSEs this year. I'll put you into the GCSE classes you want to do on this list but I will not pressure you into going to others."

"Okay. The other reason?" Sherlock said simply.

"I would like to give you an opportunity. Now the school has never done this before, but would you be interested in becoming a student teaching assistant for the younger years? You will still have free periods like your classmates but it will be an interesting experience."

"Depends who I will be working with." Sherlock said, placing his fingertips together, resting them on his lips.

"Well, what subjects would you be interested in helping with?"

"Chemistry."

"I'm sure that can be arranged. Any others?"

Sherlock thought about this for a while. "Maybe biology. That'll do for now."

"Sure." Mr Crey nodded. "Well we have a new chemistry starting this year as-"

"Mr Ryan left. Yes I know. You said in assembly."

He smiled. "Of course I did. Her name is Miss Bennet. This is her first time as a teacher so she will need the help."

"Okay. When do I start?"

"I'll get Hannah to sort out a timetable for you. Hopefully it'll be with you by the end of the day. You can start lessons tomorrow."

Sherlock nodded. "Is that it?"

"Yes Sherlock. You can go." He said as shook his head and smiled at the strange boy.

Sherlock got up and left the room.

* * *

Sherlock made his way to Miss Bennet's lab. He could already see the eager year 9s waiting outside, ready to go in and meet their new teacher.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned around. "Molly!" he smiled.

"What did you do to your leg?"

"Ankle." He corrected. "Sprained it."

"Poor you!" she said sadly. "So what are you doing here?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Assisting." He said and strode (or as close as he could get to striding) into the lab. He saw Miss Bennet writing on the whiteboard.

"Can you wait outside please class?" Miss Bennet said as Sherlock walked into the room. When she didn't hear an apology or the sound of the door opening and closing again, she turned around. "Oh! Sorry Sherlock. I didn't realise it was you." She gave him a beaming smile.

"It's fine." Sherlock said with a brief smile. Mr Crey must have described him to her. He wasn't hard to miss.

Sherlock looked at the woman. She had long curly light brown hair and dark green eyes. Her skin was quite pale and lacked any spots or blemishes. Her cheeks were slightly red and her teeth were perfectly straight. Some might say she was beautiful.

However, this was Sherlock. He just ignored in her beauty and moved on.

She stepped down from the whiteboard and walked over to Sherlock.

"I'm Miss Bennet, though I'm sure you already knew that." She held out her hand.

Sherlock looked her up and down once.

_Recently out of university. Choice of clothing suggests she's modest. Nervous about meeting the class for the first time. Usually makes bad first impressions. Smart. Kind heart. Strong morals._

"Indeed so." Sherlock took her hand and shook it.

"Now could you let the class in please?" she asked as she returned to the whiteboard.

"Don't be nervous." Sherlock said simply as he adjusted his weight on his crutch. "They're only year 9s."

"Thank you." She said with a small smile.

Sherlock opened the door and the class flooded in.

"Choose your seats!" Miss Bennet called over the noise. It was clear that she was trying to get into their good books. "But if you misbehave, I will move you." _and_ there's the authority.

Sherlock noticed Molly sat down at the front on the end of the bench. Eager to learn and close to him. How typically Molly.

While the noise was beginning to hush down, Miss Bennet turned to Sherlock. "Do you mind handing the seating plan around so they can write their names?"

"It would probably be easier if I did it." Sherlock said taking the paper from her hands and retrieving a pen from his blazer pocket. "This lot are more than likely to write the wrong names to confuse you. Classic new teacher practical joke." he said as he began writing the names down.

"Thank you, Sherlock." Miss Bennet smiled before addressing the class. "Hello class. My name is Miss Bennet and obviously I'm your new chemistry teacher."

She received a few smiles and nods from the class but the rest were all eyeing Sherlock suspiciously.

"Oh, yes." Miss Bennet said as she looked over to Sherlock. "Sherlock will be assisting in these lessons every Monday and…" she paused as she forgot the schedule.

"Fridays week 2." Sherlock finished for her, not looking up and still writing the names down on the paper.

"Thank you. Now, we're going to kick-start the year with an experiment." the class began talking with excitement and she waited for the class to hush down again. "Please get into groups of 2 or 3 and open your textbooks to page 42."

The class shuffled around a bit and Sherlock passed the paper back to her.

"Today we'll be burning magnesium ribbon. Sherlock and I will be around to help you throughout the experiment. And be _responsible_. That means lab coats and goggles please."

The class erupted into life. Sherlock rolled his eyes at their eagerness for such a dull experiment. He sat down in Miss Bennet's chair and sighed out of boredom. This was going to be a long first lesson. Sherlock closed his eyes and gained access to his mind palace to entertain himself.

"Sherlock!" Miss Bennet's kind voice interrupted his thoughts. He looked over to her and raised an eyebrow, his way of asking 'what?' "Can you help the group at the front please? I'm busy with this group at the moment." she asked, nodding her head in the direction of Molly's group.

Sherlock sighed and stood up, leaving behind his crutch. He was told to exercise it daily so it will heal quicker. A quick walk of about 2 metres would be fine.

"Hey Sherlock." Molly said as he approached them.

"Molly." he acknowledged. He noticed the two girls she was working with glaring at him.

Molly smiled shyly before speaking. "Erm, how do you check to see is the magnesium ribbon has burning?"

Sherlock picked up the pliers and lifted the lid very slightly of the crucible, giving himself a split second to check. "Like so." he said afterwards. "Once it's stopped glowing it's done."

"We know that freak." one of the girls said to him.

"Then why waste my time and ask?" he snapped back. Molly opened her mouth to say something but was beaten to it.

"_We_ didn't." she pointed at Molly. "_She _did."

"I just wasn't too sure how high you would have to lift it without letting the smoke escape…" Molly said.

"It's quite obvious- What are you an idiot or something?!" he shouted at the group behind them. "You use the _pliers_ to lift up the crucible lid, not your _hand_, unless you want a burn."

"Is everything alright Sherlock?" Miss Bennet asked as she walked over.

"Why did I agree to this?" he asked, a smile of disbelief on his face. "I'm surrounded by idiots."

"Sherlock they're the year below you, you can't expect them to-"

"Yeah, yeah I know." he said and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't think this was a good idea."

"Well, maybe this started a bit soon. How about you get into your usual schedule and then we'll start again in a couple of weeks?"

Sherlock nodded and picked up his things at the front of the class, getting out of there as quickly as possible.

* * *

Meanwhile, across the other side of the country, a middle aged woman was sitting alone in her main living area, when there was a knock at the door.

"Enter." she said, placing her cup of tea on the table. A young man walked in, holding an umbrella.

"Mummy, we need to talk about Sherlock." he said.

"I know."


	46. Night Terrors

**Night Terrors**

"When's your birthday Sherlock?" James randomly asked him one day. Christmas was fast approaching and James was always far more cheerful and far more likely to start a conversation around this time of year.

"It's been and gone, why?" Sherlock replied in monotone as he turned a page in his book.

"Why didn't you say anything?" James almost sounded offended.

"It's just another day in the year, nothing special." he said nonchalantly. He'd never really taken an interest in his birthday. He did when he was younger, but that was mainly because he got presents.

"But it's your birthday! You don't celebrate at all?"

"Another year on this planet? No. It's incredibly dull."

"What about next year? It'll be your 16th-"

"Dull."

"But-"

"Dull."

"At least tell me when your birthday is."

Sherlock lifted his eyes from the book he was reading and raised an eyebrow. "Why would you care?"

"Why shouldn't I? You're a friend."

"You know I don't have friends."

"Yes, well-"

"Which means I am not required to tell you about every aspect of my life." he held James' stare with an equally intense one.

Eventually James sighed and looked away. "Fine." he picked up his bag and put it on his shoulder. "I'm off to class. You coming?"

"No I have a free…" Sherlock replied, his attention back on his book.

James left the dorm room and closed the door almost silently behind him. Sherlock looked up at the door for a couple of seconds and smiled briefly. Maybe someone did care…

* * *

Sherlock walked into his dorm room smiling and fell onto one of the armchairs.

"You're looking very smug." James said as he put on his jacket. "Who have you been terrorising now?"

Sherlock frowned at him. "I haven't terrorized anyone. I simply told Anderson that his affection towards Miss Bennet hasn't gone unnoticed and that she would like him to back off…in front of the whole class." he smirked, remembering his reaction. He had turned bright red and just run off, rather than his usual 'I'm going to punch your face off' façade.

"Miss Bennet?" James asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, Miss Bennet. Is there something wrong with your hearing?"

"You're spending more and more time with her."

"What are you trying to suggest James?" Sherlock asked, tilting his head to the side slightly.

"You like Miss Bennet."

"… yes she is one of few decent people at this school. I may not assist her classes anymore, but she lets me use her lab." Sherlock frowned slightly. What was he getting at?

"No I mean you _like _like her."

Sherlock scoffed. "You really think I'm that primitive?"

"What? She's a good-looking woman. More than half the boys here fancy her."

"Along with some of the girls…" Sherlock muttered under his breath.

James shook his head and smiled. "I won't ask how you know that…"

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply but their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the post. James walked over and picked the letters up, flicking through them.

"… One's for you." he said, throwing the letter to him.

Sherlock's brows furrowed as he caught the letter. Ever since Jonathan died, he very rarely got any letters. He took a closer look at the envelope. _Black ink, British fountain pen, usually writes letters, female. Since when did mummy write?_

He opened the letter slowly and pulled out the paper. He saw James doing the same thing with his letters, which much less care and attention. He was smiling while reading a postcard that Sherlock deduced was from his aunt.

Sherlock diverted his gaze back to the letter and began reading.

_Sherlock,_

_We wish for you to join us at home for Christmas this year. We have planned a large family reunion which we will be hosting at the estate. This means your presence is vital. Your brother and I are aware of your current predicament involving your father and an arrangement has been made for you to stay with Mycroft for the majority of the holiday. _

_I am yet to hear of your goings on at school so I presume you have done well and behaved. I look forward to reading your report, which I expect to see upon your arrival._

_We look forward to seeing you next week when the holidays begin. A driver will be sent on the last Friday of term to bring you home at 6pm. I expect you to be punctual. _

_Yours,_

_Mrs J Holmes._

Sherlock lowered the letter from his face and sighed. _Great, Christmas at home._

He hadn't spent Christmas with his family since he was 11 years old.

"Bad news?" James asked from across the room.

"Terrible news. I have to go home for Christmas." Sherlock replied with a grimace.

"I'm sure it's not that bad." he said as he walked into his room to put the postcard on his pin board.

"Family reunion."

"And?" James returned and looked at his watch.

"You haven't met my family." Sherlock said as he frowned at the ceiling.

James chuckled lightly before getting his jacket. "Are you sure you don't-"

"_Yes._" Sherlock stressed. "You know I'm not interested in such menial things such as _parties._"

James sighed. "Fine. Catch you later." he said before leaving.

Sherlock read through the letter a couple more times before dropping it to the floor. Why was his presence vital? He thought they hated him. To them, he was just a piece of dirt on their shoe, an embarrassment. So what's changed?

He shrugged it off. He was probably only needed there for appearances. But something about the letter kept eating away at his mind. He couldn't put his finger on it though.

He only realised he had sat there thinking for a few hours when he saw it had gotten dark. He stood and walked to the window, watching the rain fall. He opened it and climbed outside, thankful for his dorm being on the ground floor.

The cold rain hit him instantly. He hadn't seen rain so heavy in a long time so it didn't take long for him to get soaked to the skin. He began walking around the school grounds, receiving a few confused looks from those running for cover. He somehow made his way out of the school gates and was walking towards the village. Sherlock pulled out his mobile.

_Why does mummy want me home for Christmas? SH_

He quickly sent to his brother. He put it back in his blazer's inner pocket, preventing it from getting too wet. When he didn't get an almost instant reply he sighed. Mycroft must have been in a meeting.

By the time he had made it into the village, Sherlock could already hear the sound of music blaring from a few streets away. He made sure walk in the opposite direction, not wanting to be anywhere near those people. Unfortunately he was too close to the party to avoid some people heading back.

"Hey look," a boy, who Sherlock recognised from the year above, slurred. "it's that cock sucker."

The boy's two friends laughed. Sherlock ignored them and continued walking on the opposite side of the street.

"Where are you going?" the boy shouted after him, laughing. "Going to see your boyfriend?" He crossed the deserted road and began walking behind him, his friends following suit. Sherlock knew what was coming and so began to weigh out his odds. He could run, but he had nowhere to run to without running past them. He could smell the alcohol on them; they were clearly very drunk. He could use this to his advantage. He slowed his pace and turned around.

"Facing us now are we?" the boy said, leaning on his friend for support. "Don't think you'll get anywhere with us. We're not queer little fucks like you." they stopped in front of him. Sherlock could smell the alcohol in his breath. It was disgusting.

"I'm not gay." Sherlock said simply.

"Oh! The _fag _isn't gay!" he laughed with his friends. "We all know that's a lie."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He felt his phone vibrate and took it out, shielding it with his other hand. He opened the text from Mycroft.

_It's a family reunion Sherlock, why wouldn't she? MH_

"That your boyfriend freak?" the boy said, stepping forward to grab the phone. Sherlock took a step to the side without averting his gaze from his phone, causing the drunken teenager to fall forwards onto the concrete.

"Brother, if you must know." Sherlock said nonchalantly. One of his friends tried to help him up, whereas the other tried to punch Sherlock in the face, but he lost his balance and fell. Sherlock smirked and began walking away towards the school.

_Oh I don't know, because she hates me? SH_

Sherlock quickly sent back. "Get him!" he heard the boys shout behind him and the sound of their feet splashing in puddles as they ran after him.

Sherlock glanced backwards before breaking out into a run. He couldn't prevent the humoured smile appearing on his face. There was something about a chase he enjoyed, even if he was the one being pursued. He darted around a corner and into an alleyway, ducking behind a bin as he watched them run past. He stood and walked out the alleyway, waiting for them to run out of sight before fully emerging.

He smiled as he heard one of them shout "Where'd he go!" and began walking back towards the school, passing under street lamps and watching how the light bounced off the raindrops before they crashed to the ground. Many people thought he didn't appreciate the small things in life. He may have found them uninteresting, yes, but they were beautiful. His skill of noticing things just added to this further, like how he saw each raindrop fall to the ground and send a small droplet upwards before it fell to the ground also and caused a second ripple in the puddles. He looked up at the sky and ignored the droplets of water splashing his face. The clouds were beginning to thin out, allowing the moon to shine a small amount of light to the ground below.

Sherlock felt his phone vibrate and pulled it out.

_She'd be very upset if she heard you say that. MH_

He rolled his eyes and continued walking back.

_Then the wise decision, brother dearest, would be to not tell her. SH_

_Did you want something Sherlock, or do you enjoy wasting my time? MH_

_Since when did mummy care about me? SH_

Sherlock stared at his phone, waiting for a reply, but one didn't come. He climbed back through his dorm's window, thankful for the slight warmth. He walked into his room and changed into his pyjamas, settling in for the night.

He got into bed and pulled the covers over him, listening to the rain hit the window. He saw his phone light up on his bedside table and reached out a hand to pick it up. He unlocked it and read the message.

_Let's just say recent events have changed her opinion on the matter. MH_

Sherlock sighed, dumping the phone back where it had come from. His thoughts shifted towards his father. They had organised for him to be away from the man. Why? They never had done before. Did it really take them 15 years to realise the man hated his guts? Sherlock knew the hate originated from him being a boy, a disappointment. He knew his father had wanted a little girl. He remembered being very young and trying to impress him, only to receive some kind of abuse. He could recall drawing him a picture when he was 3 and giving it to him, only to watch his masterpiece be ripped to shreds in front of his eyes. He didn't have a single pleasant memory of his father.

He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the covers over his head, trying to fall asleep.

* * *

James walked into the dorm room at some point in the middle of the night. He flicked the light switch on and was half expecting to see Sherlock slumped in his armchair, as was the norm. He hadn't drunk as much as the others and so was still relatively sober. He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a cool bottle of water, drinking the contents quickly.

He made his way into his room and began getting changed, until he heard a cry from the other room. He pulled on his pyjama bottoms and hesitated. When he heard a loud shout, he walked back out of his room and stood by Sherlock's. He knocked on his door.

"Sherlock?" he asked loud enough for him to hear.

"_Get away from me!" _he heard Sherlock shout in a panicked voice.

James took this as invitation enough and opened the door, looking in. He could see Sherlock tangled in his blankets, stirring in his sleep.

"_No!"_ Sherlock shouted, his head tossing and turning. James stepped forward and shook his shoulder.

"Sherlock!" He said, loud enough to awaken him.

Sherlock sat bolt upright, causing James to take a step backwards. He was breathing heavily as he wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. He had had another nightmare about his father. He hadn't had one of those in a while...

"You were having a nightmare..." James mumbled from the other side of the room.

"Yes I know that!" Sherlock snapped at him, not making eye contact. He felt _weak_ and it sickened him.

"Sorry..." James said as he made his way out the door, closing it silently behind him. He walked back into his own room and sat down on the bed, looking at the time on the clock. It had gone past midnight.

James reached over and opened the top drawer of his bedside table and pulled out a photograph. He allowed the tears to fall down his cheeks while he stared at the picture of himself and his father. "Happy birthday dad..." he whispered into the darkness.


	47. Questions and Answers

**Questions and Answers**

"It'll be strange having the dorm to myself." James said while Sherlock moved his bag into the main living area. "You're pretty much always here."

"Yes, well if it was up to me, I'd be staying." Sherlock replied with an agitated sigh as he fell onto his armchair, draping his long legs over one of the armrests.

"You'll be fine, Sherlock." James gave him a small smile before returning to his packing. Sherlock made no reply, but James was sure he saw a flash of fear in the other boy's eyes.

Sherlock sat with his head resting against the other armrest, already bored of waiting. Why did time have to move so _slowly_? He glanced at James.

_Clothing bit smarter than usual, wearing his favourite shoes and the shirt Molly said she liked. Date with her later. Packing early, keen to go home for christmas to see family. Had salad for lunch, small amount of salad dressing on the corner of his mouth so he's dieting so he can binge over the christmas period. Wants to stay in shape. Football tryouts after holidays, wants to be on the team with some of his friends._

"Why football?" Sherlock asked him. "Why not rugby? Especially considering more of your friends are on the rugby team."

James looked up from his packing. It took him a few seconds to reply, the accuracy of Sherlock's deductions still surprised him. "My dad always liked football. I used to go to the park every Saturday with him and play."

"And that affects your decision now because...? Oh. Sentiment." Sherlock said, almost disgusted.

James rolled his eyes. "Something you'll never seem to understand."

"It's pointless." Sherlock said as he checked his watch again.

He took one last look around the dorm room before standing and pulling down on his blazer to flatten it. He tugged off his tie and scrunched it up, putting it away in his bag. He had always hated ties. He failed to see how they made you look 'smart'. He picked up his bag and sniffed nonchalantly. "See you later, James." Sherlock said as he made his way towards the door, one hand carrying his bag, the other deep in his pocket.

"Merry Christmas Sherlock." James replied, giving him a brief wave. Sherlock acknowledged him with a short nod and left the room.

He strode through the hallway, ignoring the usual taunts he received from those whose intellect was far beneath his own. He would retaliate, but he feared the idiocy would spread. He walked out the main doors after being wished a happy christmas from Hannah Crey, to notice he appeared to be the only one leaving the school at this time. He saw the car with blacked out windows and wondered over.

"Good evening Mr Holmes." the driver said to him as he held out his hand to take Sherlock's bag. Sherlock frowned slightly as he passed the man his belongings. This wasn't the way the staff usually treated him. To be honest most of them hated him. He shrugged it off and got into the car, preparing himself for the journey.

* * *

When the car pulled up outside Mycroft's home, it didn't feel like christmas at all to Sherlock. He, along with most of his neighbours, had no decorations and the street seemed rather dark. He took his bag from the driver and walked up to the house, knocking on the door as he watched the car drive away into the night. One of the maids opened the door, but before she or Sherlock could say anything, Mycroft's voice came from down the hallway.

"Good to see you accepted mummy's invitation in the end brother." his brother said with that fake smile.

"Family reunion? Wouldn't miss this for the world." Sherlock replied sarcastically while stepping into the building.

Mycroft's fake smile faded from his face, only to be replaced by a look of slight agitation. "Sherlock I must say that you should not and _will_ not ruin the christmas period for mummy. She's put a lot of time and effort into this reunion and the last thing she needs is you making a scene."

"Yes Mycroft, but am _I_ really the one you should be saying this to?" Mycroft could see the challenge in his brother's eyes.

Mycroft sighed. "Just be _good._" he turned around and began walking in the opposite direction, only to turn back and face him once more. "I promised mummy I'd bring you round tomorrow morning. She'd like to have a little...chat." he continued walking towards his study. "I've had the same room set up for your stay." he said over his shoulder.

Sherlock took a deep breath as he tightened his grip on his bag and began walking up the stairs. Trust Mycroft to arrange to take him to the last place he wanted to be.

* * *

"Now, Sherlock," Mycroft began as their car pulled up the long driveway of the Holmes estate. "Mummy has been through a lot recently. She may act a little_ differently_."

"How so?" Sherlock asked, intrigued as he was, he disagreed to take the irritation out of his voice. He didn't want to be here.

"All in good time dear brother." Mycroft said as he exited the car.

Sherlock looked up at the building as he followed suit. The last time he had been here he thought he was going to die. He lacked any fond memories of the place and coming here today would just add to the list of bad ones. He felt a sharp pain inside of him. He could only describe it as pure fear. He quickly realised his breathing rate had increased and so returned it to normal, avoiding Mycroft's gaze.

"Mycroft dear!" he heard his mother's voice and looked down to look at her. There was most certainly something different about her. She appeared to be much more tired and defeated than he remembered her. What also surprised him was that she was hugging Mycroft. That was a similarity between him and his mother, neither of them were really ones for human contact. But there she was, holding onto the elder Holmes boy tightly.

"Hello mummy." Mycroft replied warmly.

"And Sherlock..." she released Mycroft from her grasp and gently put her hands on his shoulders. She carefully pulled him into a hug, as if moving too fast would break him.

Sherlock's frown of annoyance quickly turned into a frown on confusion. He glanced over at Mycroft, who just raised his eyebrows and nodded towards their mother, his way of saying 'hug her back'. Sherlock awkwardly lifted his arms and wrapped them around her. The whole situation was rather peculiar and he felt very uncomfortable.

Once they broke apart, which Sherlock was very thankful for, he spoke. "What happened?" he asked bluntly.

"Sherlock-" Mycroft warned.

"What? Obviously something has happened. She's never this affectionate, not towards us nor anyone else."

Mycroft opened his mouth to retaliate, but was beaten to it by his mother. "It's okay Mycroft." she looked at both her sons. "Come inside, it's awfully cold out here." she said as she wrapped her arms around herself and walked into the building.

* * *

"Take a seat, Sherlock." his mother said as she slowly walked over to the window in the main living room.

Sherlock sat down on one of the armchairs and resumed his thinking position. Something was wrong about the picture in front of him. He looked at her intently, trying to work out what it was, when suddenly he noticed the faint purple mark on her arm.

"He started on you too?" he stated more than asked.

His mother instantly turned around to face him, pulling down on her cardigan sleeve to cover up the marks. "I forgot how developed your observational skills have become." she said as she moved over to the armchair opposite him. She sat down gracefully and looked him in the eye. "Indeed he has."

"Then why do you stay? The logical course of action would be to leave, would it not?" Sherlock asked her.

"I agree." Julie Holmes replied. "And yet I must stay."

"Only an idiot would stay. Why do you think I avoid this place?"

She hesitated, considering her options as of what to say next. "My reasons will become clear to you one day, Sherlock, just not yet. Soon." she said as she broke the eye contact.

Sherlock frowned at her slightly. Why was she being so cryptic? "When did it start?" he asked.

"When you returned to school." she said blankly, doing the same thing as Sherlock did in these situations: distancing their emotions in times of difficulty. "I defended you."

Sherlock stared at her with disbelief. "What?"

"Sherlock, your father, my husband, is a bad man. He does not know of kindness. When I almost lost you to him a few months ago, I knew I had to take matters into my own hands."

He could feel the anger inside of him. "And yet you waited until 15 years of my life had passed before you realised this?" he said through gritted teeth.

"I understand you're angry. But as I've said before, you need to learn to control these emotions Sherlock."

"I _do _know how to control them." he snapped. "I only behave this way when I feel I am talking to an idiot."

His mother shook her head. "I'm afraid you'll have to accept what I'm saying and move on-"

"_Move on?_" he smiled at her out of disbelief. "How do you expect me to move on from something I've experienced my whole life?"

"Then delete it." she said simply. Sherlock frowned at her. "I know you can."

"You expect me to delete a major part of my life? You know as well as I do that's a lot more difficult than you are making it out to be."

"I believe you will be better off, besides, the Sherlock I know doesn't give up that easily."

"Don't try and make out my character. You don't know me at all." he said coldly.

"I've changed, Sherlock."

Sherlock was getting frustrated. "People can't just _change_." he ran a hand through his hair. "They can't! It takes more than a few months for their characteristics to change so drastically! _Why _are you so _different_?"

"You always need to know the answers Sherlock." she smiled. "Never loose that trait."

"You did not answer my question." he said bluntly.

"Not all questions have answers, Sherlock."

"And yet all questions are asked to be answered." Sherlock retaliated. "And find the answers we must." he said as he stood.

"Then find them Sherlock." his mother said. "Prove to me that you want to be this 'consulting detective'."

Sherlock nodded confidently. "I will." he said, and with that, he left the room.


	48. It Begins Again

**Hello all you lovely people. Just taking this chance to say this will hopefully be a weekly update now every friday, but don't hold too much hope for that as I have loads of A level work to do :/ (my twitter followers reading my fic already know how much I'm hating it). I've almost finished the next chapter :) Anyway, hope you are all still enjoying my story and I'm just surprised how long some of you have stuck by me and continued reading. Thank you so much for all the support! I really really appreciate every review you guys send me!**

* * *

**It Begins Again**

And so it arrived, the most wonderful time of the year..._apparently._

Mycroft Holmes had grown out of Christmas many years ago. To him, it just got in the way of work. So when he had agreed to look after Sherlock during the Christmas period, the last thing he had expected was for his little brother to sabotage the top floor with Christmas decorations; the top floor which was _out of bounds._

"_Sherlock!" _he shouted around the house angrily, until he found the boy sitting in the study, reading one of his books.

"Fascinating book this." Sherlock said as he held it up. "Mind if I keep it?"

Mycroft sighed agitatedly as he strode into the room. "Sherlock, what do you think you were doing upstairs?"

"Oh you found my little surprise? Merry Christmas to you too Mycroft." Sherlock replied smugly.

"I forbade you from going up there."

"The you need to improve your security..." Sherlock turned a page in his book.

"Sherlock, I'm being serious. There are many important _confidential_ files up there."

"Oh? Like this one?" Sherlock said as he dumped a file on the table between them.

Mycroft's face visibly paled as he spoke. "Where did you find that?"

"Where did I find a file about my father beating me since before I can remember? Maybe the better question would be: why is this file on _your_ desk?" he asked coldly. "Or better yet, why does this file _exist_?"

Mycroft sighed and sat down on the armchair next to him. "Sherlock," he said delicately. "after much discussion, mummy and I made the decision to take father to court during your hospital stay."

Sherlock made no reply, he just stared at his brother blankly.

"Unfortunately we did not have the evidence nor the power to convict him." Mycroft continued. "Father has contacts in high places, higher than myself and so, as a result, we failed. I'm sorry Sherlock." he stood, leaving the younger Holmes in peace to process the information. He took the file with him to return it.

Sherlock stared at his back as he left, not really knowing what to think. They had tried on _his_ behalf. That's what his mother had meant about defending him, she had taken his father to court. _That__'s_ why he began hitting her, he thought she was being just as defiant as he had been over the years. Many thoughts passed through his mind as he considered the facts laid out before him. But one thing kept bothering him, a strange sensation within him. _Regret? No, sociopath remember? Sherlock Holmes doesn't have feelings._ She had tried and he had thrown it back in her face without realising.

Maybe she had changed.

* * *

Sherlock sighed dramatically as he walked down Mycroft's stairs, carrying his case.

"There's no point in sulking, Sherlock." Mycroft said as he saw his brother emerge.

"I'm not sulking. Why would I be sulking?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, jumping over the last three steps.

"Just get in the car." Mycroft replied as he walked out the building, using a slightly softer tone than his usual harshness after the events that occurred a few days ago.

Sherlock followed him outside and got in the car. "I don't see why we have to go anyway. They're only our relatives."

"That's precisely why we are going." Mycroft replied, almost mentally exhausted after looking after Sherlock.

"They don't care about me and I most certainly do not care about them. I cannot see why this is _necessary_."

"They are _family_ Sherlock, and this is a _family _reunion. Your presence is required."

"Yes but my presence isn't required for a week." Sherlock snapped as he watched the world pass by outside.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Mummy wants to see you and father is away until the day before Christmas eve. By then the family will have begun to arrive and he wouldn't dare try anything."

Sherlock didn't say anything, unsure whether to voice his concern that it hadn't stopped his father before. But his brother could be right. If anything his father was a very proud man. His pride judged his decisions, not his morals nor his conscience. For now, he could be safe.

* * *

Sherlock stood in front of his mother once more, beginning to accept the inevitability that she would hug him every time they met.

"Did you bring your school report this time?" his mother asked as she pulled away.

"He has." Mycroft spoke up as he passed her the paper. "I hope there's no bad news."

She took the paper as they followed her inside the building and into the living room. "Sherlock," she said as she began reading the report. "Go upstairs dear. Your brother and I need to have a little chat."

Sherlock glanced at them both before frowning as he walked out. Whatever she wanted to talk to Mycroft about must have been important, for she rarely left him in peace when they visited. However, Sherlock was thankful for the peace, and so he went to the backdoor to go to his makeshift lab.

He froze.

He looked down at _that_ spot.

There were still specks of his blood that couldn't be scrubbed away.

He inhaled deeply as he took a step backwards, hand still tightly clasping the door handle.

This is where he could have died.

No.

He couldn't deal with it.

He could feel his hands shaking and his breathing was laboured.

He had to get out of there.

He let go of the handle and stepped backwards again, his eyes never seeming to leave the spot. He turned and sprinted down the hallway, grabbing his coat in the process. He put it on as he threw the front door open and ran outside. He didn't bother to check if the door closed behind him. The only thought going through his usually frantic mind was _run._

His paced slowed as he reached nearer the centre of London. It was beginning to get dark and Sherlock noticed as all the christmas lights around London were being turned on. There were plenty of tourists around, looking at the wonders of the city.

Normally Sherlock would see this as a distraction with all these people to deduce, but he couldn't get his mind off his father. This was a mistake. He'd have to face him in the next few days and he didn't know if he'd be able to cope.

He had stopped running by now, finding himself in a dodgy part of town. He had been here before of course so he did not feel the fear most people felt when in the area. Over the years he had catalogued the whole of London in his mind. He knew every street, every passage. He walked, ignoring the looks he received from people, until he stopped when someone spoke.

"Hey kid," a man in his late thirties called out. "You looking for something?" he raised an eyebrow.

Sherlock glanced at him, ignoring the rest of the things he could deduce about him, except the fact he was clearly a dealer. "What have you got?" Sherlock asked as he approached him, unsure why he was taking this risk.

"Take your pick." the man smiled, almost wickedly, as he pulled out small bags of various substances.

Sherlock took some cocaine, knowing it helped him focus before. He gave the man some money and walked away as he buried the drugs in his pocket. He hated the idea of snorting them though, it would weaken his sense of smell and so decided to inject the substance. He'd done it before and so knew the technique. He turned round a corner, noticing the street was derelict, and injected it into his arm. He let out a satisfied sigh as he felt it in his veins and leant backwards into the wall.

He moved away from the wall, losing his balance slightly as he made his way towards the main road. There were sure to be plenty of people there this time of night and he had now regained his ability to focus on something other than his father.

When he reached it, he sat down on a bench and watched the people walk by, deducing their lives.

_Old couple, happily married for 47 years, he cheated on her 30 years ago, she cares more for him the relationship judging by the state of their rings. Her's is more looked after than his. Bought his wife brand new matching jewellery, rest of her jewellery is fake or cheap, he's recently come into a large sum of money, parent's death, father most likely._

_Business woman, been working all day, sudden tiredness catching her up. Newlywed, smiled as she looked at her ring, sentiment. Last day of work until after Chirstmas, bought a bottle of wine to celebrate. Small cut on her hand, new kitten, black and white looking at the small hairs on her coat._

Sherlock smiled to himself. He hadn't done this in a long time and he'd missed it. It was rare for him to see a new face at school. He'd tried deleting anyone he didn't see on a daily basis and deducing them again, but he found it repetitive and he couldn't broaden his deduction skills. He remembered Mycroft telling him all those years ago that _practise makes perfect, there's no point deducing the same people. _It was one of the few pieces of advice Mycroft had told him that Sherlock actually listened to.

_Young girl and her father, mother walked out on them 3 years, girl doesn't remember her much, no older than 6 years old. Father has new girlfriend, just introduced her to his daughter, values her opinion, close bond-_

His deductions were cut off by the sound of his mobile ringing. He took it out of his pocket and had to blink a couple of times at the brightness of the screen before reading the caller ID.

"Mycroft, what a pleasant surprise." he said down the phone, chuckling quietly to himself for an unknown reason.

"Sherlock, where are you? I'm not hunting you down again." Mycroft complained down the phone.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Out. You've only just noticed? You're getting slow Mycroft."

"Of course I knew you weren't in! It was hard not to realise you'd left. You gave mummy a fright. She thought it was-" he paused. "Just tell me where you are."

"Why would I tell you that?"

"Well judging by the noise in the background, I'd say you were on a main road and knowing you there'd be a lot of people around. Of course it'd be in central London as it's you."

"Well done Mycroft, that narrows it down dramatically for you." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"I also know you would run in the opposite direction to my home." He could hear the agitation in his brother's voice. "Anyway, mummy is worried sick. Where are you?"

"Try and work it out." he challenged.

"No matter I've traced the phone call." Mycroft said nonchalantly. "I'm coming to get you."

Sherlock sighed. "_Fine._" He hung up and placed his phone back in his pocket. He glared at everything, the cars, the street, the people. Everything seemed to irritate him now. It was probably something to do with the fact everyone and everything were idiots. Yes, everything was an idiot.

Sherlock shook his head to try to snap himself out of it. What was he thinking? Every_thing_ was an idiot? It must be the drugs talking. He hadn't taken them in a very long time and he needed to learn to control them again.

A little while later a black car pulled up next to him. The door opened and he heard Mycroft's voice within. "Get in the car Sherlock."

Sherlock stood, managing to keep his balance and got in. He didn't meet his brother's gaze, knowing that Mycroft would be able to tell he had taken drugs if he saw his eyes. He just stared out the window, waiting for Mycroft to speak.

"You went _there_, didn't you?" Mycroft asked carefully after a couple of minutes of silence, talking about that part of their family home.

"It was an inevitability, yes." Sherlock replied in monotone.

Mycroft nodded. "When one faces one's demons, one must not face them alone."

"I am alone." Sherlock said quietly.

"No you're not." Mycroft replied almost immediately.

Sherlock dared a glance at his brother, seeing that he was in fact looking at him with a deep set concern. "You are my brother Mycroft. It is social convention for you to 'be there' for me." he said with an almost disgusted tone.

Mycroft sighed and looked away from him. "When I was 7 years old, I made you a promise to always protect you. I'm still trying to keep that promise."

"Times have changed." Sherlock replied bluntly and twisted his body away from Mycroft.

The elder Holmes opened his mouth to reply but closed it soon after, realising he was probably trying to fight a battle he'd already lost.

The journey back to the Holmes estate was a silent one, and upon arrival, Sherlock immediately got out the car and went straight to his room, ignoring his mother along the way. Mycroft entered moments later and gave his mother a quick glance. She nodded as she looked at where her youngest son had just been.

"He'll be back to normal by morning." Mycroft said as he also ascended the stairs.

"Yes," his mother replied. "But your father returns tomorrow." she said solemnly.


	49. Christmas

**I'm unsure whether I'll be able to update next week as I've got loads of work, so here's an extra long chapter for now :)**

* * *

**Christmas**

Sherlock sat in between his mother and his brother as they heard the front door close along with the heavy footsteps of his father. Mycroft sent his mother a quick glance as the door opened and Mr Holmes stepped inside. He slowly made his way to the armchair opposite them and sat down. The man took a deep breath and linked his finger together before speaking.

"I would like to remind you that this is _my_ house and you will respect how I run my household." he began. "So while you stay, I expect no trouble from you or there will be serious consequences. I will not be made to look a fool." his gaze locked on Sherlock. "You will stay out of my way and not bother our guests arriving tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?"

Sherlock made no reply. He just met his father's stare with one just as intense, not allowing him to intimidate him, even though inside he was terrified.

"Do I make myself _clear_?" his father repeated, raising his eyebrows at him.

After another moment's silence, Sherlock finally answered. "Crystal."

His father stared at him for a couple more minutes before breaking the eye contact. "Good. Tomorrow afternoon, the grown ups shall be having drinks. I expect you entertain your cousins, boy."

"His name is Sherlock." Mycroft said suddenly. Sherlock glanced at him before looking back at his father.

"I will call him whatever I wish, understand?" his father retaliated.

Mycroft stared his father down with a glare Sherlock wasn't sure he'd be able to defeat. Eventually his father looked away, then back at Sherlock.

"I expect you to entertain your cousins, _Sherlock._"

Sherlock nodded curtly.

"Good." his father said before standing. "I will not be joining you for dinner tonight." he said and left the room.

The trio sat in an awkward silence for a couple of minutes before Sherlock stood and made his way towards the door.

"Now where do you think you're going?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and looked at him. "Outside." he said simply.

Mycroft chuckled. "To that little makeshift lab of yours?" Sherlock opened his mouth to retaliate but was beaten to it by Mycroft. "Yes, we discovered it. You will not go back there Sherlock."

"Then what am I supposed to do around here?" Sherlock replied angrily.

"Why don't you read a book or call a friend and invite them over? Oh wait, you can't." Mycroft glared at him.

"Friends are a waste of time." Sherlock stormed out the room, slamming the door behind him and barely hearing his mother say "I wish you wouldn't do that." to his older brother. He climbed the stairs two steps at a time and also slammed his bedroom door shut.

He had nothing better to do now, so he rummaged through his bag until he found what he was looking for. He walked over to his bed and sat on the edge as he rolled up his sleeve. He injected himself and sighed contentedly as the cocaine entered his system.

* * *

Sherlock walked into his old playroom where his cousins and himself had been dumped for the rest of the day. He looked at them all, not having the 'pleasure' of seeing most of them since he was a small child, apart from Verity and Emilia of course. But there were also his cousins from his mother's side of the family this time, along with their parents' cousins' children.

"So go on then Sherlock," Verity spoke up after silence had fallen when he stepped in the room. "entertain us."

Some of the children he was distantly related to, and therefore hadn't met him before, looked at him wearily. Verity and Emilia had obviously been telling them about him. "I'm sure you do not require my entertainment." he stated simply as he fell into an armchair.

A young girl, around 6 years old, whom Sherlock had never seen before suddenly spoke. "They said you stalk people and then tell them about their lives."

Sherlock scoffed. "Incorrect, I _deduce_ people's lives." he said as he rolled his eyes.

"You still do that?" his 16 year old cousin Barnaby asked. "I remember you doing it when you were 8 or something."

"Then your memory is in tact." Sherlock drawled. This was beginning to get tedious.

"Do it then." the older boy said.

"No you don't want-" Verity began.

"Shut up, Verity." Barnaby interrupted and ignored her as she scowled at him. "Deduce Caroline."

Sherlock smirked and turned to the little girl who had spoken earlier. His eyes darted over her as everyone stared at him with interest. He sucked in a deep breath and began speaking quickly. "Horse rider, played on your skipping rope earlier, often plays on skipping rope, only child, likes to do things herself, tries to act far more grown up than she is-"

"See!" Verity interrupted. "He's such a stalker!"

"No." Sherlock said instantly. "When are you going to get it into your thick skull that I deduce theses things? I've never seen nor met her before and yet you still accuse me of 'stalking'. For once in your life use your brain." he snapped.

"How did you work that out?" Barnaby asked, leaning in a little and ignoring the interruption. He obviously hated Verity almost as much as Sherlock.

"Simple." his eyes locked on Caroline again. "Look at her posture, it screams horse rider. Must have been doing it for a good 2 years by now to achieve that. Skipping rope? She has small specks of dirt on her lower shins where the rope has hit the ground and sprayed mud onto her legs after last night's rain. It's obvious she does it often or why else would she bring it here as a form of entertainment? Everyone else with a sibling here are near each other, whereas she is more detached from the group, so only child. She's got bits of glitter stuck under her nails and a bit on her face, so she's been making christmas cards this morning for tomorrow. She's doing it herself to surprise her parents tomorrow, trying to show how 'grown up' she is doing it all by herself, but judging by the mess she made and how they wouldn't dare leave their child alone in a strange new environment, they clearly already know so her efforts have been wasted-"

"Sherlock!" Barnaby interrupted, a hint of anger to his voice. The boy walked over to the little girl who now had tears in her eyes.

"What?" Sherlock replied. "You told me to. The only one to blame is yourself."

"You didn't have to say that last bit." he said quietly, trying to comfort her.

"Why? Isn't that nicer? She doesn't have to finish her mother's one anymore-"

"No, Sherlock, it is not _nicer_ to ruin someone's hard work."

"It wasn't hard work, she was only sticking things to a page." Sherlock said in a bored tone.

"Well you clearly don't remember being a child-"

"_Wrong._ Of course I remember being a child. By her age I knew the meaning of hard work, and it most certainly wasn't sticking things onto paper."

"Well then you experienced childhood wrong."

"I experienced childhood correctly, only I seemed to grow up far quicker than you."

Barnaby stood and walked over to him. "The last thing you are is grown up. You're so immature."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Growing up and maturity are different things. Now if you'll excuse me," he said as he stood and matched Barnaby's stare "I have far better things to do with my time than this." he turned on his heel and opened the door, quickly turning back to look at the faces staring at him. "Oh, and Verity," he said, looking directly at her. "You may want to tell your father you may be pregnant before it's too late." he flashed her a fake smile before leaving the room, not bothering to close the door as he strode down the hall.

* * *

"Come on Sherlock!" Mycroft said in a merrier tone than usual as he knocked on his door. "2 minutes!"

"Piss off!" Sherlock shouted at the door, annoyed at having been woken up.

"Cheer up Sherlock, it's christmas. 'Tis the season to be jolly' and all." his brother laughed.

Sherlock groaned. Christmas day, _brilliant._ A day full of 'playing host' with his family, not to mention the Christmas dinner. He rolled out of bed and stood up. He pulled his curtains open and smiled as he noticed the rain, which had not stopped coming down for the last few days, had finally ceased. At least that meant he could escape to the garden for a while.

He sleepily left his room and walked down the stairs, acknowledging a maid with a nod after she wished him a merry christmas. He entered one of the living rooms where the christmas tree had been set up and sat down on the sofa.

"Merry Christmas boys." his mother said to them with a smile as Mycroft walked in the room also.

"Merry Christmas mummy." Mycroft replied for them both as he sat down next to Sherlock.

Julie handed them both a couple of presents each before Mycroft handed her one, claiming it was from both of them, although their mother knew Sherlock had never seen the present before, nor had he planned on giving her one. She opened it, revealing matching sapphire earrings, necklace and ring. "They're lovely boys. Thank you very much." he beamed at them. "I shall wear them today."

Mycroft opened his presents next. He had received a leather diary for the next year, another new tie (without a hideous pattern on it this year) and a pair of diamond cufflinks. "Thank you mummy." he said warmly as he leant back and looked at Sherlock.

The younger Holmes boy sighed as he leant forward and opened his presents. He almost ignored the ink pen and notebook as he opened his other present. "A...trenchcoat?" he asked, eyeing the coat suspiciously.

"I saw it and thought it might suit you." Julie said with a smile. "Try it on then."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but after a stern look from Mycroft, he stood and put the coat on. To his surprise, it did look rather good on him.

"See?" his mother said with a smile.

Sherlock began to take it off, but Mycroft interrupted his actions. "Best keep that on Sherlock. We're going outside."

He sighed, irritated. "Why?"

"Because we have one last present for you out there."

Sherlock frowned at them, but shrugged his new coat back on and followed them outside. They stopped outside Sherlock's old lab, which he thought Mycroft had destroyed. The elder Holmes brother took out a key from his pocket and unlocked the door, opening it wide so Sherlock could walk in. Sherlock looked at his brother suspiciously before stepping inside the dark room. The other two followed him inside and Mycroft flicked a light switch revealing what was in the room.

Sherlock was almost stunned into silence. Gone were the old equipment and work tops, in their place were brand new versions, the latest models which would give him incredibly accurate results. The room appeared to be smaller than he remembered and so he walked towards a door he didn't recognise. He opened it to show a store cupboard, with hundreds of different chemicals and even more equipment, along with a strategically placed fire extinguisher. Sherlock smirked at that, but for once he kept the small smile on his face as he continued looking around.

"Merry Christmas Sherlock." Mycroft said after a short while, tossing the key over to him which Sherlock skillfully caught with his left hand.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment before tearing his eyes away from the lab. "Merry Christmas Mycroft."

* * *

"So, Sherlock, I presume you've begun taking your GCSEs?" his uncle Russel asked him at the dinner table. The Christmas dinner was traditionally eaten at supper in the Holmes household, but due to the size of the group and Julie's 'schedule', they were eating the main meal of the day at lunch.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I've done most of the GCSEs available at my school in the last few years. I'm currently taking some of my A levels." he corrected.

His uncle gave him what looked like an almost disgusted look, as if intelligence was some kind of fatal disease. Sherlock could hear the chatter of his family around him, but ignored it. He was hating it already and the day's festivities had only just begun.

After that, no one else spoke to him, other than Mycroft. None of them dared get close to the freak of the family.

Sherlock sat waiting, rather impatiently, for the food to come out. The sooner he could escape, the better. He felt a wave of relief when it did. The staff appeared from the kitchen and filled the table with the roast christmas dinner.

"Sit up straight Sherlock." Mycroft said in a hushed tone over the table.

"I shall sit how I wish, _Mycroft_." Sherlock snapped.

"_Manners _Sherlock." Mycroft persisted.

"I do not see how I should reward these people with my manners." Sherlock replied coldly. "Neither them nor I wish to be here, and yet I am. If I am going to stay here I will behave however I like."

Sherlock took a limited amount of food, being rewarded with a short lecture about malnutrition from one of his aunts. He ignored her, of course, and began eating rather quickly.

"Slow down Sherlock!" Mycroft said as he finished eating a yorkshire pudding.

Sherlock looked up smugly. "You can talk, brother_ dearest._ What happened to your diet?"

Mycroft's jaw clenched and Sherlock smirked, knowing he had won the argument. He quickly finished his dinner and wiped his mouth with the napkin before dumping it on the table and standing.

The room fell to silence as everyone looked at him, apart from Mycroft, who just rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger with exasperation.

"And where do you think you're going, boy?" His father asked coldly.

"I have finished dinner. I do not see why my presence is required any longer." Sherlock replied sharply.

His father's jaw clenched as Sherlock moved away from the table and out the door.

"Some people are just so rude." Verity said before continuing her meal.

Sherlock ran up to his room quickly, glad he now had the chance to use the cocaine he had been craving for the last few hours.

* * *

He stumbled down the stairs a few hours later, after using more of his favourite drug. He entered the room the majority of his family was in and walked straight over to the makeshift bar, where he collected a small glass of whiskey. He had never really drunk much alcohol before as he failed to see the point, but today drinking was an experiment, along with a social experiment to see people's reactions to his behaviour. He did not care for these people's good opinions.

He downed the glass pretty quickly, soon demanding another one. He repeated this several times and eventually lost count. He could feel that he was becoming light-headed and his senses were not up to their usual standard. He added this information and more to his mind palace as he fell into the wall, trying to support himself.

"Sherlock?" he heard Barnaby ask.

"Oh what is it now?" Sherlock rolled away from him on the wall.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine now piss off!" Sherlock said a little too loudly.

"Sherlock that is no way to treat your guests!" Barnaby's mother said.

"It's fine mum, just stay away from him okay?" Barnaby said before Sherlock had a chance to retaliate.

The pair walked off while Sherlock glared at their backs. He looked around the room at his family members. Weren't family get-togethers dull? His eyes locked on his father and he made his way over, tripping over his feet a couple of times.

"You know," Sherlock slurred. "you've made my life a living hell. And to be perfectly honest, I'm surprised you didn't kill me."

"What the devil has gotten into you boy?" his father asked angrily.

"You hate me almost as much as I hate you. You're nothing to me."

The people surrounding them fell silent and witnessed what occurred next. A heavy blow to Sherlock's left cheek caused him to stumble to the floor. There were a few gasps of surprise and horror around them.

"You all saw it," his father said, looking away from his son. "the boy is drunk, he slipped and fell."

Sherlock pushed himself up by his elbows. "_Liar._" he said quietly. He slowly opened and closed his eyes several times, trying to regain his perfect vision, but it kept blurring.

"How _dare_ you accuse me of-"

"Of what?" Sherlock interrupted.

His father's hand was balled in a fist before he relaxed it again. "Get out of my sight."

A firm grasp took Sherlock's waist as he was hoisted up. Sherlock turned his head to see Mycroft assisting him. "Come on Sherlock..." he said in what sounded like a mentally exhausted tone.

He put an arm around his brother's shoulders and allowed himself to be lead out of the room.

After what seemed like far longer than a couple of minutes, they reached Sherlock's room where Mycroft released him on his bed as he retrieved a bucket, just in case.

"I'll come and check on you in an hour." Mycroft said as he stood in the doorway before sarcastically adding "_Merry_ Christmas Sherlock." and closing the door.

* * *

Sherlock was in the middle of an experiment in his lab when his mother walked in and interrupted his thoughts.

"Hello Sherlock." she said as she closed the door behind her. "I hope you've sobered up a little."

He glanced at her briefly before returning to his experiment.

"Look at me." she said, trying to get his attention. "I have something to say and I want you to listen." she said a little louder.

Sherlock sighed as he put his test tube down, took his goggles off and looked at her. He rose his eyebrows in annoyance.

"I understand you do not wish to be in the company of our family, and it seems they do not wish for yours either." she began.

"You realise this now." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"But be aware that your father is not impressed." she continued, undeterred by his comment. "He wished for a façade of a happy family life. You did not meet his wishes and he will not be pleased the next time he sees you."

"I never would have guessed." Sherlock said, exhausted by how dull the conversation was.

"Just be careful. He is leaving in a couple of days, but for now you need to remain safe."

"I highly doubt that will happen." Sherlock said as he put his goggles back on and returned his attention to his experiment.

Julie nodded to herself and walked back to the exit. "I'd advise you to stay here tonight. I doubt you would have slept anyway."

Sherlock nodded, adding another chemical to the test tube.

She stopped in the doorway and turned around. "Don't worry Sherlock. It'll just be the three of us next year."

Sherlock paused from what he was doing. "What do you mean _three_?" he looked up just as the door closed, and he was left in silence once more.


	50. Thief

**50th chapter! wow, didn't realise I had it in me to write that much... Anyway, just wanted to say thank you so so much for the kind reviews, some of you even saying that this is one of the best fics you've read :') You don't understand how incredible that makes me feel. I have a couple of weeks off now so I'll get back to writing loads and loads for you so I don't leave you hanging...again. Thanks to everyone reading! Love you all! Enjoy :)**

* * *

**Thief**

Sherlock sat down in the hall. They had been called for an urgent assembly and he had no idea what it would be about. If he did, he wouldn't have bothered going. He saw Molly sit down in front of him and internally groaned as she turned around.

"Hey Sherlock!" she said happily. "Have a nice christmas?"

"It was interesting." Sherlock replied. He still wasn't really sure what his mother had meant about the three of them. Was Mycroft or his father going away next Christmas? It would be more predictable for his father to be absent as Mycroft would have shared that news with him by now. He realised he had completely missed what Molly had just been saying. "Pardon?" he asked her.

Molly rolled her eyes but smiled. "I said, I'm sure it was great. I love Christmas. Shame we have to wait another year for it."

"Hm." Sherlock replied.

"So do you know why we're here?" she asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "Must be important to call an assembly."

"Do you think it might be about the thefts?"

He frowned. "Thefts? what thefts?"

"A load of the girls' belongings have been stolen over the last week. No one knows who it could be."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock asked. Finally something interesting happens and no one tells him?

"Well... I... I thought you knew..."

"I didn't. What do you know?"

Molly opened her mouth to reply, but the loud voice of Mr Crey interrupted her. "Settle down!" he called over the noise. He waited a couple of moments before continuing. "Now I presume you're wondering why you are all here. As I'm sure most of you are aware, there has been a series of thefts in the girls' dorms beginning the week after you returned from the Christmas holidays. This behaviour will _not _be tolerated. If the culprit comes forward within the next three days and returns all the missing objects, their punishment will not be as severe. If not, the police will have to be involved." murmurs from the students interrupted him momentarily, but he silently held up his hand, shutting them up quickly. "If anyone knows any information regarding the missing objects, please contact me immediately." he looked across the hall. "That is all. You're free to go."

The hall erupted into life, with people talking about the events and them trying to get out of the hall as quickly as possible. Sherlock smiled to himself. "Finally something interesting..." he muttered to himself. "Brilliant."

He walked out and looked down the corridor, spotting Molly. "Molly!" he called to her. "_Molly!"_ He shouted again after not gaining her attention the first time. He pushed past some people, catching up with her.

"Sh-Sherlock?" she asked uncertainly.

"Molly." he said simply, finally catching up with her. "What do you know?"

"Know about what? The thefts?"

Sherlock sighed "Yes, of course the thefts!"

Molly looked a little taken aback. "Well, maybe somewhere a little more private?"

He frowned a little. "Why?"

"Because most people don't have a conversation about people stealing things in the middle of a busy corridor."

Sherlock's frowned deepened. "Why not?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "Come on. My dorm will be empty."

* * *

"Tell me what you know." he said as he began pacing.

"Well I don't know that much..." she trailed off.

"What's been stolen?" Sherlock prompted.

"Let me think... First it was Jane's phone, then Rosanna's gold necklace, and Amy's diamond ring, Hannah's viola and some other things from other people. I don't know what they are though."

"What year are they in?"

"Hannah and Amy are in my year, Rosanna is in the year below me and Jane is in your year. I think the others are year 7s and year 8s."

Sherlock nodded. "Where are their rooms?"

"I don't know..."

He let out an agitated sigh. "_Think _Molly."

"Well, as far as I'm aware they don't have any links... They're all over the building."

"They are linked."

"How?"

"They're set out 'randomly' on purpose to confuse people. To make them presume there isn't a pattern. The pattern is that these girls have valuables worth a lot more than anyone else."

"You got that from them being random?"

"Yes, why do you sound so surprised?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow at her.

Molly blushed. "Sorry... I wasn't doubting you..."

Sherlock shook his head. "Which theft was most recent?"

"Hannah's I think."

"When was it?"

"2 days ago."

Sherlock nodded. "Show me."

"She won't let you in-"

"_Show me."_ He persisted and walked out her room.

"Oh... okay..." she obediently followed.

They walked down a flight of stairs to the floor below into an empty corridor. Molly stopped in front of one of the rooms and turned back to Sherlock.

"This is Hannah's room." she said with a hint of nervousness to her voice.

Sherlock stepped forward and knocked on the door. He waited a couple of moments then turned back to Molly. "Nobody home..." he said. He looked at her for a minute before quickly taking the hair slide holding her fringe in place and skillfully began to pick the lock.

"Sherlock!" she said in a whisper. "What are you doing?"

"I need information." he replied simply, smiling to himself as he heard the click of the lock.

"But it's breaking and entering!" she looked around, worried they'd get caught.

Sherlock opened the door and walked in, not caring if Molly followed or not. He looked around. _Strange,_ he thought, _why would the thief only steal the viola when there was lots of other valuable objects? _He span around, taking everything in before nodding to himself.

"Take me to Jane's room." he said bluntly.

"Right..." Molly said anxiously, glad to get out of the dorm they'd broken into, but worried he may do it again. "This way."

She ushered him out, double checking he closed the door, and lead him down the far end of the corridor.

"That one." she said as she pointed to the first door.

"Single room." Sherlock muttered to himself. "Interesting..."

He knocked loudly on the door and heard movement inside.

"Won't be needing this again then." he said simply as he quickly slid the hairslide back into Molly's hair. The girl blushed but he ignored her. He clearly heard the sound of her rummaging around before the door opened.

"What do you want freak?" Jane snapped at him when she immediately recognised him. "Come to steal something else?"

"No just wanted a little chat." he said with a flash of a fake smile as he pushed past her into her room.

"Oi!" she shouted at him. "Boys aren't allowed in girls' dorms!"

"Yes but since when did _you_ obey that rule?" Sherlock retaliated instantly.

She immediately reddened. "Get out or I'll get a teacher."

Sherlock chuckled after she said that. "Yours was the first theft, correct?"

"Yes." she replied, folding her arms.

"And yours is the only single room..."

"Why does that affect anything? My phone has been missing for 2 weeks now!"

"And daddy hasn't sent a replacement?" he mocked.

Jane hesitated. "Not yet no."

Sherlock smiled to himself. "Okay that's all." he said as he strode out the room.

"That's all for what?" Jane asked, confused by the boy's actions. She turned to Molly. "What's the freak doing now?"

"Trying to find the thief..." she said shyly before following him.

"I'm telling a teacher!" Jane shouted down the corridor to them.

"Go ahead!" Sherlock called back, not caring and knowing she wouldn't have the guts.

* * *

"Sherlock!" Mr Crey said fondly. "How may I help you?"

Sherlock sat down in the chair opposite him. "It's about the thefts-"

"No need to worry, Sherlock. The thief is targeting the girls and-"

"I'm not worried." he interrupted. "I know who did it. Incredibly obvious really."

Mr Crey frowned. "You do?"

"Yes. I carried out my own investigation. There's no point depending on the police, Mr Crey. They're incredibly slow and miss things of importance."

"I'm sure that's not true Sherlock..."

Sherlock sighed. "Do you want to know who it is or not?"

Mr Crey nodded. "What do you know?"

"Jane Luton." he said simply.

The man frowned. "The first victim?"

"Yes the first 'victim'." Sherlock said as he used fingers to mark the inverted commas.

"This is a very serious accusation Sherlock."

"And a correct one."

"How do you know?"

Sherlock smiled and sat a little straighter as he began saying his deductions at the speed of light. "Out of all the objects that could have been stolen from her room, it was her mobile phone. It was an object in her room with less value than some of her other possessions, and yet that was the stolen item. So it was an object she could afford to 'get stolen', and yet her parents haven't replaced it yet. So there's money troubles at home. The other possessions stolen were not necessarily objects of the highest value either, but they were a hit. They were objects the owners were often seen with so people knew about them. Hannah's viola would be difficult to steal, so it would be during lesson time. As the thief wouldn't run the risk of bunking while this was happening, they would have used a free period when less people were around so obviously they were in years 10 to 13. The viola in someone else's possession would have been suspicious so the thief's dorm would have been nearby so that no one would get a chance to see them with it. The thief had picked the locks with a simple hair slide and weren't too experience in that area. There were scratch marks around the locks of the doors from where she had been unsuccessful, but they weren't deep enough scratches to be made by a key. The only door without these was Jane's, and considering that was the first theft, there would likely be the most scratches on the lock due to inexperience and yet there were none. She's also the only 'victim' with a single room, meaning she could easily hide the stolen goods without anyone knowing they were there. All the goods had a high, except hers, value that she must have researched, otherwise she would have just stolen anything in the rooms. She knew exactly how much money she would have made from selling them, and only when she knew this information she would have bothered. I would say it's clever, but to be honest it's rather pathetic. In the end, could she have been more obvious?"

Mr Crey just stared at him for a full two minutes in shock. Eventually Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Come now Mr Crey," he said "the evidence is before you. What else do you need to know?"

"How did you acquire this information?" the man asked after a little while longer.

"I didn't _acquire_ it, I deduced it." Sherlock instantly replied, his usual reaction to such annoying questions.

"Yes, I understand that, but where did you gather the information to make these deductions?"

Sherlock hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Unnecessary..."

Mr Crey sighed and leant back in his chair. "You broke into their rooms, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you mean sir." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

Mr Crey smiled. "Fine. Detention for a week. No breaking into dorm rooms, even if it is for a good cause."

"I just handed you the culprit and you're putting me in detention?" Sherlock asked with disbelief. "Normally people would say thank you."

"But since when did you care about what normal people did, Sherlock?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up into a smile. He stood up to leave, but Mr Crey interrupted his actions.

"Do you know the location of the stolen objects?" the headmaster asked, writing down what Sherlock had told him before.

Sherlock thought for a couple of moments before nodding. "I presume the viola would be hidden under her bed. She's too stupid to think of somewhere clever to hide it." he smirked at Mr Crey's raised eyebrow. "And the other objects would be packed, reading for posting on friday to her home address where she could sell them easily during the next holidays. Some would have already been sent so you may wish to contact her parents to recover the items."

Mr Crey nodded. "Thank you Sherlock. You have most certainly been of great assistance to this matter."

"And yet I still get detention?"

"Rules are rules Sherlock."

"And most are made to be broken." he muttered under his breath as he left the room.


	51. The End of an Era

**The End of an Era**

"Sherlock, you're not making any sense!" James said as he banged his head against his desk for the fourth time that evening.

"I'm making perfect sense!" Sherlock retaliated. "You're obviously just not listening-"

"I _am_ listening!" James sighed. "Chemistry just confuses me alright?"

"_How_ does it confuse you?" Sherlock said as he began pacing. "It's simple-"

"No it's not!" James groaned as he looked back at his homework assignment. "It may be simple to you but it isn't to me._"_

Sherlock let out a deep breath as he placed his fingers under his chin. He needed a hit and he needed it now. But he couldn't do anything until James was gone, and he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. "Give it to me." Sherlock said as he snatched the paper up. He scanned through the page. He had forgotten how easy the GCSE syllabus had been. "I'll do it."

"Sherlock, you can't just do my work for me." James said as he stood and snatched the paper back out of his hands.

"Why not?" Sherlock frowned at the shorter boy.

"Because otherwise I won't learn anything. I want to do well." he sat back down at his desk and picked up his pen again.

"You've already learnt it in class. This is just recapping. Most people would jump at the chance for someone else to do their homework."

"But I didn't understand it. That's why I asked _you_ for help."

Sherlock clenched his teeth. "But this is easy! Even Anderson could do it!" He knew it was a low blow, considering James knew how much Sherlock disliked the boy, but he was desperate.

James just looked at him blankly. "Well I'm sorry I can't match _Anderson's _intellect." he said coldly. "But not everyone is good enough for the _great_ Sherlock Holmes." he grabbed the paper and stormed out the room, muttering something about going to the library.

"Finally." Sherlock said under his breath as he raced into his room. He soon found the recreational drug and fell onto his bed as it rushed through his system.

* * *

Sherlock knocked on the door before entering the lab, a rare thing for him to do. He walked in without waiting for a reply.

Miss Bennet turned around and smiled. "Ah Sherlock." she said as she wiped the whiteboard clean from her last lesson. "How can I help you?"

"I was just returning the book you leant me." he said as he dumped it on her desk.

"I loved that book during uni." he said as she took her seat. "It really helped me with my degree."

"I could tell. It has a lot of detail required for your course." Sherlock agreed.

"I never told you what course I did." she hesitated before smiling at him knowingly. "I'll never work you out Sherlock. Have you begun considering where you'd like to go for uni?" she asked as she opened her lesson planner.

"Mycroft wants me to go to Cambridge like him, but I'm not sure." Sherlock replied honestly. He hadn't really thought much about university to be honest. He hadn't deemed it of a high importance. He was waiting for around the time he turned 16.

"Well they'd let you in. You're just their type. Either that or Oxford."

"What do you mean 'type'?"

"You're a genius, Sherlock Holmes." she said as she scribbled down a note in her planner. "And with your qualifications and everything you've done, I'd be surprised if they didn't give you a place now."

Sherlock smiled a little. He still wasn't used to someone having faith in him. "You think I should apply early?"

"Well, I would say yes, but you're only in year 10. You still have over 3 years to get even more qualifications to impress them with. Start looking though. You may find one you like."

Sherlock nodded when suddenly the bell went, signalling the end of lunch.

"And that's where I'll have to leave you I'm afraid." she said as she glanced at her watch. "I get the joy of teaching your fellow year 10s for a double. You're welcome to stay if you have a free."

"I'd rather not. Is the spare lab next door free?"

She nodded. "One last thing Sherlock." Miss Bennet said just after he turned around to leave. "James is a good kid. I know he's struggling in my lessons so I told him to ask you about helping him. Thank you for trying but next time, don't call him an idiot." she smiled sadly.

Sherlock frowned slightly. "He told you?"

"Yes, he told me you tried to help but it wasn't going anywhere. I asked why and, well, you know the rest."

"But why would he tell you?"

She shrugged. "He's a nice boy. You won't meet someone like that in a long time, Sherlock. Try to stay friends with him."

"I don't have friends." Sherlock said simply as he walked over to the door.

"Then you don't know what you have Sherlock." she said as he put his hand on the door handle. "Tell them to come in when you leave."

Sherlock didn't look back as he opened the door wide and strode out. "You can go in." he muttered to the girl waiting by the door.

* * *

By the time Sherlock returned to his dorm room, it was long after curfew. He found his last experiment particularly interesting and had lost track of time. He hadn't been caught though, he often never was.

He sat down on his armchair, the idea of sleep not coming to him any time soon. He closed his eyes and steepled his fingers, getting lost in his thoughts.

He snapped out of it when he felt a rough shove on his shoulder.

"Breakfast." James mumbled as he walked out the dorm room.

Sherlock stood, stretching a little after being in the same position for several hours. He frowned a little. _Why did James tell him it was breakfast? He knew about his eating- oh. Thanks Mycroft._

He realised then that he hadn't eaten in two days. Mycroft must have contacted James to tell him to eat. But normally James would have forced him down to the canteen, not just told him. What was different?

He shrugged it off and followed the boy. If it were possible, Sherlock would never eat. It slowed him down and wasted time. But unfortunately his body needed it to function properly. He entered the canteen, ignoring the taunts from the other students as he collected a cup of coffee, an apple and a couple of biscuits.

He was on his way out when suddenly someone shouted to him. "Oi, freak! I thought you were a homo!"

Sherlock frowned slightly as he turned around. It appeared to be one of James' friends who had spoken. Before he could say anything, the boy spoke again. "Back off Molly." he sneered.

Sherlock finished the bite of apple he was eating. "What are you going on about?" he shook his head at him.

"Running around catching a thief with her? _Alone _in her dorm room?"

"Yes, that's all." Sherlock raised his eyebrows at the group. A lot of the people around them had silenced themselves, listening in on their conversation.

"Oh, so you admit to it now?" the boy stood and walked over to him. "You're admitting you're forcing Molly to cheat on James?"

Sherlock laughed quietly. "Oh yes, of course. Because I, Sherlock Holmes, would want to split them up. What for? Jealousy?" he laughed again. "No, the relationship will end itself anyway. Young love and all," he took a sip of his coffee. "It'll never last."

He turned around to leave, glancing at James once as he headed for the doors. He had said nothing, _done_ nothing. This wasn't like James at all. Did he honestly believe Sherlock had made Molly cheat on him? No, he can't have. He knew Sherlock wasn't that kind of guy. He wasn't the type to try and find a relationship, nor destroy one for his own purposes. Other things distracted him from that. No, distraction isn't the right word. Other things were far more _interesting_ and entertaining than that. They were far better than giving in to hormonal teenage 'needs'.

He felt a rough hand on his shoulder, yanking him backwards. He managed to keep hold of his coffee, when suddenly a fist collided with his jaw. He dropped everything, burning his hand on the hot coffee as he stumbled backwards. A few of James' friends had cornered him. Sherlock smirked at them.

"Oh brilliant." he muttered to himself as they began their 'attack'.

The first of the boys took a step forward as he attempted to punch Sherlock in the ribs, but he was faster than him and grabbed his fist in mid punch. He took the moment of the boy's surprise to kick him in the back of the knee, causing him to fall forward onto the ground. Sherlock kicked one of the other boys in the chest and he fell backwards, clutching his stomach as another grabbed Sherlock from the right. Sherlock elbowed the boy coming from the left in the face and heard the successful crunch of a broken nose. He ignored his cry of agony as he turned to the boy grabbing him and forced his knee sharply into the boy's groin. He smirked as he stumbled to the ground. The original assailant had recovered by now and was planning a similar attack, but Sherlock quickly dodged him to the left, causing the boy to punch the wall. There was another loud crack as the boy appeared to have broken one of his fingers and dislocated another. The boy he had kicked in the stomach made other move on him, catching Sherlock's forearm as he punched him in the chest. Sherlock took a deep breath, not being too affected by the hit, and also kneed him in the groin while punching him just under the ribs, causing him to fall down, joining the rest of his friends.

Sherlock smiled a little at the boys all holding their injuries on the floor. He looked at James again, noticing he was looking away. He wasn't proud of what happened, but it appeared he still wanted the events to occur. Sherlock pulled down on his blazer and strode out the now silent canteen.

* * *

When James returned to the dorm room after lessons, Sherlock looked up at him from his book. He picked up the letters that Sherlock hadn't bothered to collect earlier and looked through them. James threw an envelope at Sherlock, who caught it easily.

Sherlock waited a couple more moments before speaking. "You seem to be displeased with me. What have I done to upset you?"

James sighed angrily as he threw down his letters on the desk. "What have you-" he cut himself off, taking a few deep breaths. "What do you think Sherlock? Use your amazing powers of deduction!"

"It's a skill not a-"

"I don't care!" he shouted. "First you call me an idiot, then you make my girlfriend cheat on me and _then _you end up sending my friend to hospital!"

Sherlock smirked at that last comment, resulting in James being even more angry. "Is this just a joke to you?" James asked, his voice raising in volume once more.

"I don't joke." Sherlock said simply, frowning a little at the letter. It was from his mother.

"No, no you don't." James said coldly. "Well?"

Sherlock looked away from the letter. "Well what?"

"Are you going to tell me why you did it or not?"

Sherlock sighed, sitting up a little straighter. "To start with, I didn't call you an idiot. You've misquoted me. I was only with Molly as she had important information about the thefts and unless you really are an idiot, you would realise I was defending myself against your friends." he said as he ripped open the envelope and quickly scanned the paper. Sherlock visibly tensed.

James was about to shout at him again, but when he saw the expression on the other boy's face he stopped himself.

Sherlock read through the letter again. _No, this has to be some kind of joke. It couldn't..._

"Sherlock, what is it?" James asked, his good nature getting the better of him.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He blinked hard and shook his head a little, snapping out of the trance. A wide smile spread across his features as he read that sentence.

_I'm sorry to inform you that your father passed away yesterday during a hit and run..._

"He's gone." Sherlock could feel his pulse rate increasing from joy. He laughed to himself, relief flooding him. "He's dead!"

James frowned. This wasn't how people reacted to deaths. "Who?"

Sherlock looked over to him. "My father is dead. This is..." he shook his head, not finding the right word. "This is brilliant. This is fantastic!"

James held back his tears as he scowled at Sherlock. He grabbed his bag. "You've taken it too far Holmes." he said quietly. "Some people would be devastated by that news."

"Yes, well I'm not everybody."

"I don't give a shit! Some people appreciated their fathers. _Some _people loved them." James stormed out, wiping away hot tears that he couldn't hold back any longer.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. How normal people were so emotional about such things never seemed to make sense to him. One thing he knew though, was that he was finally free.


	52. Stars

**Stars**

"You didn't have to attend, Sherlock." Mycroft told him as their car followed the hurse.

"I know." Sherlock said. "I just wanted to make sure the bastard was really gone." he kept his gaze focused out the window, ignoring how his brother and mother glanced at each other.

"It's not too late to change your mind." his mother told him.

"I made my mind up as soon as I received that letter." Sherlock immediately replied.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "You're supposed to at least look like you're in mourning."

"Why?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows at his brother.

"Because our father has just died! At least try and keep up appearances."

"Oh yes, appearances. I should have known." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"For God's sake Sherlock-"

"Boys please," their mother interrupted. "not here."

"Yes, Mycroft," Sherlock mocked. "Not here."

"Shut up, Sherlock or we'll leave you to wait in the car." Mycroft argued.

"What happened to keeping up appearances?"

"Boys!" Julie shouted over them. "There is a time and a place. You are making me very distressed."

"Sorry Mummy." Mycroft said while giving Sherlock a stern look.

The car pulled up outside the cemetery. They got out and waited for everyone else to arrive, standing in silence as Mycroft and the other pallbearers took their place around the coffin. Julie hooked her arm into Sherlock's as they followed them to the graveside. Sherlock frowned at her a little, his distaste of human contact clouding his ability to be kind to his mother on a day like today, yet she gave him a small smile in return and rubbed his arm.

The ceremony seemed to last an eternity to Sherlock. He automatically blocked out the sound of people talking about how 'great' a man his father was. No, they were wrong. He was one of the worst human beings who ever touched the planet. Many people seemed to be surprised at the lack of a speech from Julie and Mycroft, both claiming to be too upset to continue. Sherlock knew they were lying. They must have been almost as glad as him at his departure from this world. Whereas many would see this as a terrible day, Sherlock couldn't help but smile a little as the coffin was lowered into the ground. He was finally free.

Everyone slowly departed from the graveyard, Sherlock being one of the first to leave and having to wait in the car for a total of 20 minutes while people told his mother and Mycroft that they were sorry for their loss. But in those 20 minutes, something clicked in his head. It made sense. Why hadn't he seen it before?

"Sorry to keep you waiting brother." Mycroft drawled as they returned to the car. "It's only _polite_ to listen to people's condolences."

Sherlock smirked at him as they waited for their mother to put on her seatbelt. The car began to move and the trio sat in an awkward silence for a few minutes.

"You did it, didn't you?" Sherlock stated more than asked.

"What do you mean?" his mother asked as she looked blankly out the window.

"You got him killed." he said simply. "Hit and run? You organised it."

Julie looked away from the window and directly at him. "I don't know what you're talking about." she said in the same tone as him, but he saw the flash of something in her eyes. Sherlock knew she didn't mean what she had just said, and it was clear she wanted him to know that.

He looked in Mycroft's direction, who only raised his eyebrows a little and looked away. Sherlock leant back into his seat, stopping himself from smiling. The kindest thing his family had ever done for him was murder.

* * *

Sherlock walked down the stairs with his suitcase, ready to return to school. He opened the front door, but was stopped by the sound of Mycroft coughing. He rolled his eyes and turned around.

"Bye." Sherlock said bluntly and walked out the door.

"Not so fast, brother!" Mycroft called after him.

Sherlock stopped again and sighed. "What do you want?"

Their mother walked out of the study and joined them. "To say goodbye properly of course." she said.

"Well, goodbye. I do hope to see you all oh so very soon." Sherlock mocked.

Julie shook her head and walked over to him. "Goodbye for now Sherlock." she said and kissed his cheek. Sherlock involuntarily grimaced and automatically wiped his cheek.

"Bye." he drawled and rolled his eyes as Mycroft walked him to the car.

"Sherlock I wish to talk to you."

"Well I do not wish to talk to _you_. Goodbye Mycroft." he sat in the car and tried to slam the door shut, only Mycroft got in the way and prevented it. He smirked a little as his older brother winced at the contact.

"Just _try_ to be nicer to James. Explain the situation to him. I'm sure he will understand. You won't get another roommate like him."

"I've treated him the same way I always have." Sherlock defended.

Mycroft gave him a fake smile. "Yes, just try to be a little more sensitive."

Sherlock scoffed.

"I'm serious, Sherlock." Mycroft frowned at him. "Or for the next 3 years you'll either be on your own or have bad roommates."

"Then so be it." Sherlock said coldly, meeting Mycroft's gaze and staring him down.

Mycroft sighed as he looked away. "These are for you." he said as he dumped a few files next to him.

Sherlock picked one up and scanned the pages. "Cold cases?"

"I thought they might entertain you during your remaining school year." after a couple of moments silence Mycroft spoke again. "No need to thank me, brother."

Sherlock acknowledged him with a wave of his hand before passing him back a file. "Daughter's boyfriend."

"Excuse me?" Mycroft frowned as he took the file back.

"It was the daughter's jealous boyfriend." Sherlock repeated. He _hated_ repeating himself. "She'd been spending too much time with her father and he became jealous. His medical history shows he was a psychopath. Obviously he got carried away and killed him. How thick are the police force nowadays?"

"Then how do you explain his and the daughter's death?" Mycroft tested.

"The daughter's was suicide, _obviously_. But she killed her boyfriend first out of a fit of rage. Kitchen knives were used, so it was a spur of the moment thing. She used her logic though. She made it look like he'd stabbed himself, judging by the placement of the knife. She used a bigger one for herself, making it look like he had killed himself afterwards with a smaller, less affective knife. She stabbed herself to the wall, like someone had stabbed her from above with a large force. She couldn't believe what she had done, therefore she killed herself."

Mycroft smiled a little. "Well done."

"That was an easy one. Dull." Sherlock said as he slid down in his seat and fastened the seatbelt. "Am I free to go now?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Goodbye Sherlock."

"Bye." Sherlock said for what felt like the millionth time that day.

* * *

Sherlock walked into the dorm room, passing James as he dumped his bag in his room, along with the files. He went back into the main living room and sat down on his chair.

"I understand I've upset you." he said after a short while.

"No shit." James said coldly, not making eye contact with him.

Sherlock quickly licked his lips as he thought of what to say. "I-"

"I've asked to change rooms." James interrupted. "You won't have to put up with an _idiot_ like me any longer."

Sherlock frowned. "Why did you do that?"

"It's pretty obvious you don't want to be around me and recent events have made it clear I don't want to be around you."

"Is this about my father's death?"

"_Yes_ it's about that and everything else over the years. But that... You took it too far, Sherlock."

"I can explain-"

"I don't want to hear it Sherlock. I've always tried to overlook it but I can't anymore. You don't care about anyone at all. You don't bother with me so why should I bother with you? You don't know the shit I've gone through trying to defend you. I've had enough." He stood. "I'm changing rooms tomorrow."

James quickly left the dorm, leaving Sherlock staring at the door. He rubbed a hand through his hair as he let out the breath he hadn't realised he had been holding.

That had..._hurt_.

Sherlock clenched his jaw. Enough was enough. He'd let James get too close. He couldn't let that happen again. All he had in this world was himself. No one understood him and no one ever would. He didn't need a social life. All he needed was mental stimulation. All he needed was to never get bored. _Nothing _was worse than boredom.

He stood from his chair and grabbed his coat, scarf and a couple of the files Mycroft had supplied to him. He hesitated for a moment before dropping them on the bed and deciding to take a hit.

He waited for a few minutes, giving the drug a chance to kick in before getting up and putting his coat and scarf on. He picked up the files again and walked out the room.

Sherlock took a detour to the canteen, picking up a coffee, black two sugars of course, and made his way outside. He walked across the field to the orchard where he gracefully climbed up one of the trees. He sat on one of the branches halfway up the tree with his back resting on the trunk, out of sight from the ground. He hadn't failed to see Anderson and his minions following him from the canteen, obviously looking for trouble. Normally he would have confronted them and made a fool of them but he didn't want to waste the cocaine on something as worthless as them. It focused him, sharpened his senses further. It was ideal for activities like solving these cold cases; _not_ for something as menial as humiliating Anderson by telling everyone he hadn't lost his virginity with Jane before she was excluded. The only word Sherlock could use to describe the boy was pathetic. He watched as they passed under his tree, asking each other where he seemed to have gone. Sherlock smirked at them and finished his coffee as he opened the first file he had brought with him.

* * *

He watched the sun set as he gathered the files together. He quickly sent a text to Mycroft explaining how he had solved each case. He swung his legs over the side of the branch and looked into the sky. He observed how the sky appeared to be yellow, then orange, then red, then indigo and finally the dark blue of the night sky. The first of the stars began to pierce through the darkness and Sherlock could feel the chill of the night air begin to nip at his extremities. He loved the stars for their beauty, not for their stories nor their apparant magical powers. Wishing upon a star? It was pointless. What idiot came up with that? He hadn't deleted everything about them though. He kept a few pieces of information on them stored in his mind palace, like how to find the north star in case he got lost one day without a compass.

He was about to get down when he felt his phone ring. He noticed the caller ID and sighed. He continued to stare up at the sky as he answered.

"What is the origin of wishing upon a star?" Sherlock asked for a reason even he was unsure of.

"Hello to you too, brother." Mycroft said down the phone. "Since when were you interested in stars?"

"Curious." Sherlock replied.

Mycroft chuckled down the phone. "I believe the Romans used to pray to Venus, the planet named after the goddess of love, which was the brightest point in the sky. Prayers evolved into wishes and so the term 'wish upon a star' was created."

Sherlock contemplated this for a moment. "Idiots. Surely they must know that wishing upon a ball of burning gas will not make their dreams come true."

"You'd be surprised about what normal people would believe, Sherlock."

"Normal people. Dull." Sherlock gathered his things and began his decent.

"Indeed." Mycroft replied sarcastically. "Now Sherlock I received your text. You've solved them all already?"

"Easily, yes." He looked down and judged the chances of him getting a serious injury jumping from this height. He decided, although the odds were not in his favour, to jump anyway. He landed gracefully on his feet and straightened his trench coat.

"Did you just jump out of a tree?" Mycroft inquired.

"Yes."

"First stars and now tree climbing. Making up for a wasted childhood?" Mycroft mocked.

"My childhood was not wasted. I find knowledge more interesting than menial things like games and friendship.

"I suppose that's your excuse for not continuing your friendship with James?"

Sherlock clenched his jaw. "There never was any _friendship_. I prefer my own company."

"Shame." Mycroft commented. "He was your last hope to be human."

"I'm guessing that's another hit to my sociopathic tendencies."

"Good deduction."

"What do you want Mycroft? I have much better things to do with my time rather than speaking with you."

Mycroft sighed down the phone. "That is all. Would you like me to send more cases?"

"Yes."

"Wish upon a star then, Sherlock. Maybe the Goddess Venus will hear your prayers and give you some."

"Piss off, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped and hung up.

Sherlock looked up at the sky once more and shook his head. Goddess of love? Romans? Pointless information. He immediately deleted the information from his mind palace and turned his coat collar up against the cold as he strolled towards the school.


	53. Exchange

**Okay so recently I found out Sherlock's actual birthday is 6th January but in my fic I've been saying it's around November time so that's annoying. I hope you don't mind me going slightly anti-canon on that front, it's only a few months out anyway... Thanks for all the lovely reviews by the way! They're what keep me writing as I don't want to let you guys down! So yeah, thank you for your continued support and enjoy the chapter :D**

* * *

**Exchange**

Sherlock walked towards the canteen on one of the rare occasions to eat some lunch, but hesitated when he saw a girl in one of the younger years reading the newspaper. He walked over to her and took the paper from her hands, knowing she would have said no if he'd ask to look at it anyway and so didn't bother in the first place. He looked at the cover and shook his head as he read the main headline.

_**MAYFAIR KILLER FOUND**_

_**The Mayfair Killer, who murdered 7 women 15 years ago, was finally apprehended last week after an ongoing police investigation. Ian Wickes, aged 44, is in police custody charged with the murder of Caroline Tyler, Tina Smith, Abigail Webb...**_

Sherlock laughed to himself. He gave the girl her newspaper back, ignoring her as she swore at him. He pulled out his phone and immediately called Mycroft. As soon as his brother picked up the phone, he spoke.

"How many more of these cold cases have you told them you've solved then, Mycroft?"

"Ah. Sherlock-"

"You honestly thought I wouldn't notice?"

"I can explain-"

"No need. I'm not looking for the credit. It was useful mental stimulation. The thing I'm not happy about is that you'll be getting the credit."

"Sherlock you know as well as I do that I could solve those cases as easily as yourself. And I wasn't going to conceal the new information from the police. They carried out the necessary actions and allowed the media to know certain facts. Now, if you don't mind, I've got a lot of work to get on with."

Sherlock sighed. "_Fine._ Send some more soon." He hung up the phone and returned it to his pocket.

"Sherlock!" he heard Miss Crey call from behind him, who was obviously also on her way to lunch. She caught up with him quite quickly. "Just the person I need to see."

"Yes, Hannah?" he asked, beginning to get rather impatient. He had only needed to quickly eat something to keep his body going. He wanted to spend this time in the lab conducting another experiment.

"Dad- I mean, Mr Crey would like to see you as soon as possible."

"Why?" Sherlock frowned at her. He had no reason to see the man.

"Nothing wrong. He just wants to ask a favour of you."

He raised his eyebrow. "What kind of favour?"

"I'll let him explain that." she flashed him a smile. "For now, I'm starving! Are you on your way to lunch?"

"No..." Sherlock said distantly, changing his direction towards Mr Crey's office. Why would he want Sherlock? He didn't understand. He didn't owe Mr Crey anything, nor did Mr Crey owe him anything. There was no logical reason for him to be going.

He quickly reached his office and knocked on the door, having judged by the sounds inside that the man was alone and drinking a cup of coffee.

"Come in!" Mr Crey called to the door. Sherlock immediately entered. "Ah, Sherlock! Just who I needed to see."

"So I've been told." Sherlock said as he fell into the chair in front of his desk.

"Hannah?" Mr Crey inquired as he put down his mug. Sherlock gave him a curt nod. "Of course. She's a good girl." he smiled. "Right, I shan't keep you long. Our school is participating in an exchange with another school in America. Their exchange student will be arriving next week and will stay for 6 weeks. I was wondering if you would consider being her guide for the first week."

Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at the proposition. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure." Mr Crey defended. "You have the most amount of frees compared to everyone else in your year so you'll have plenty of time to show her around. You also know the school very well. I cannot see a fault."

"Do I have to?" Sherlock didn't want to waste his frees on something as tedious as showing someone around the school, not to mention how many times he'd have to answer questions and explain her existence to other people. It sounded incredibly boring and he wouldn't get anything out of it.

"I'm not going to force you Sherlock, but I think it'd be good for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sherlock frowned at him.

"Your social interactions have been very limited as of late. I believe having some new company may help you."

Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft has spoken to you, hasn't he?" he asked in a bored tone.

My Crey hesitated for a moment. "Well-"

"That's a yes then."

"I never said-"

"Exactly, you never said no. Along with your original hesitation and the lack of denial, it is pretty clear he has."

"He and I only want what's best for you."

Sherlock scoffed.

"We _do._" Mr Crey persisted. "Look, you don't have to, but I agree with your brother. This could be an interesting experience for you."

Sherlock groaned. "You're not going to give up are you?"

Mr Crey chuckled. "Nope."

"I'll only have to show them around?" Sherlock inquired.

The man nodded. "Yes, and answer all her questions."

He sighed. "_Fine._" he gave in. It hopefully wouldn't be too bad. It was only for next week and if they had any intelligence, they wouldn't need to be around him too often.

"Brilliant." Mr Crey smiled. "Come to my office first period on Monday."

* * *

Sherlock glanced at the clock. He had 2 minutes, just enough time to finish his experiment before he had to go and meet this American. He was going to get Mycroft back big time for this. He picked up the potassium and added it to the mixture in front of him. He immediately regretted it. It burst into flames, sending sparks flying. He instinctively ducked and pulled off his blazer, realising it had caught fire on his sleeve.

He stamped it out and swore when he heard the fire alarm go off. He coughed loudly as he accidentally inhaled a lung full of smoke. He ran across the lab and picked up the fire extinguisher, using it on the random spots of fire around the room. He finally made his way over to the experiment and extinguished it, sighing in annoyance as he did so.

The ringing of the fire alarm was still echoing across the school building so he picked up his belongings, throwing his blazer on his shoulder and casually walked out the lab. He made his way out the deserted school to the field. All the students were talking and mucking about as he approached them, but gradually they quieted as they saw him walk past. He had noted his appearance in one of the windows as he had walked past. He had a couple of burn marks on his blouse, his skin had dark smudges of black on them and his eyes were a little red from where they had been irritated by the smoke. He pushed his curls out of his eyes, causing another black smudge to appear on his forehead.

"Freak set fire to the school? No way." he heard a certain Sally Donovan whisper to her friend. Sherlock looked around to see the majority of the school staring at him by now, including a not very happy looking Mr Crey.

"Holmes, you're supposed to be meeting our exchange, not setting fire to classrooms!" the man said as Sherlock approached him.

Sherlock sniffed nonchalantly. "I put it out."

"That's not the point! Why did you do it in the first place?" he asked angrily.

"It was an accident. I was doing an experiment and it went wrong."

Mr Crey sighed and shook his head. "The fire's out you say?"

"Yes." Sherlock answered.

The headteacher nodded. "Okay. What lab was it?"

"5."

He nodded once more before addressing the whole school. "This was not a drill, yet it is safe to re-enter the school. I am very impressed with your evacuation times, but your behaviour outside could be vastly improved. Please return to your lessons. If you have any lessons in lab 5, please report to reception where you will be told your new room." he glanced to his daughter who nodded at him before scurrying off.

The students soon erupted into life, glad to get back inside out of the cold. Mr Crey turned to Sherlock with a very serious expression on his face. "I will speak with you in my office later." he said quietly to him before taking a step back. "Now, this isn't how I wanted things to begin, but unfortunately there is nothing I can do. Sherlock, I'd like you to meet Jennifer Hylands. Jennifer, this is Sherlock Holmes. He will be your guide for the next few days. If you have any questions, feel free to ask."

Jennifer smiled at him before looking at Sherlock. "Nice to meet you."

Sherlock gave her a curt nod before having to cough, the smoke still irritating his lungs.

"You might as well start with the dorms, Sherlock." Mr Crey commented. "You'll need to change your clothes. Now if you don't mind, I have some unhappy firemen to deal with."

Sherlock nodded. "Come on." he drawled as he began walking towards the school. He might as well get this over and done with.

He began walking towards the dorms but then realised he'd forgotten something. He glanced at Jennifer before speaking. "I need to pick up my coat first."

She nodded. "Right okay."

They walked down the science corridor until they reached lab 5. He strode inside, not expecting the girl to follow.

"What were you trying to do?" she asked, looking at the remnants of equipment on one of the lab benches.

Sherlock picked up his coat, not bothering to put it on yet, and checked for damage. Luckily there was none. "You wouldn't understand so there's no point in explaining." he said in monotone as he made his way back out.

He lead the way to the dorms, telling her a few things along the way like the general layout of the school. He reached his room and unlocked the door, not waiting for her as he walked in.

"Don't touch _anything_." he said as he went into his room to change.

Jennifer smiled as she looked around. The room was organised chaos. Papers were strewn across the room, along with other random belongings and a violin case resting neatly in the corner. The furniture looked as though it had been moved around recently as if the occupier of the room was trying to find the optimum positions for them and had only recently decided it. One of the desks had a rather modern microscope with scattered notes around it, whereas the other was quite tidy with a laptop rested neatly on the surface along with a...skull? She frowned a little as she smiled. What kind of a boy kept a human skull? He must have been quite interesting. She sat down in one of the armchairs and looked at the files on the table just as Sherlock emerged.

"Cold cases?" She asked him as she began flicking through one. "Are you some kind of junior detective or something then?"

"I wish to be a consulting detective when I'm older." he answered honestly. "My brother supplies me with cold cases to ease my boredom."

"You don't enjoy school then?"

"Not anymore, no." he said as he slipped on his coat. "Dull."

"I think it's fascinating, you know, learning something new everyday." she said and put the file back down.

"And yet you can do that without school." Sherlock retaliated. "Coming?"

She nodded as she followed him out the door. "Like how you taught yourself violin?"

"Excuse me?" Sherlock frowned a little, surprised at the accuracy of her statement.

"You own a violin, so logically you play it. Seems to me that you dislike being taught things so I presumed you taught yourself."

The corner of Sherlock's mouth twitched up into a smile. "Correct."

"So what's a consulting detective then? I've never heard of it." she asked.

"You wouldn't have. I created it. The police will consult me when they're out of their depth."

"Oh? And what makes you think you'll be any good at that?"

"I have a high IQ and I can deduce things about people by the smallest things about their mannerisms or appearance."

Jennifer laughed. "Prove it."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "You're not a frequent flyer, possibly due to your low income at home or your fear of flying. I'd say the former but the latter does have an impact. You haven't eaten in several hours, the last thing you ate was a meal onboard the plane, which you couldn't eat very much of because of your travel sickness. You got a cab from the airport, luckily you don't suffer as badly in cars. You haven't slept in over 24 hours, unable to on the plane after sitting next to a young child. You'd rather not start today, instead you'd like to wash and rest after your journey, but you felt it impolite to ask."

"Impressive." she commented, unable to wipe the amazed grin off her face.

Sherlock glanced in her direction. "You think so?" Most people didn't compliment him on it.

"Yeah, really. I'm guessing you got most of that from how I look like a walking zombie." she laughed.

Sherlock frowned. "...zombie?"

She laughed even more. "You don't know what a zombie is? You know, living dead and all?"

"That's ridiculous. The dead are dead. It's impossible to bring them back to life." Sherlock dismissed the idea immediately.

"You've seriously never heard of them?"

"I probably deleted it. Worthless information."

It was Jennifer's turn to be confused. "Deleted it?"

"Yes. Any unimportant information, I delete."

"Fair enough." she replied. They walked in a strangely comfortable silence. "Look, what you said earlier... Do you think Mr Crey would mind if we did this tomorrow?"

Sherlock internally groaned. _Another_ day wasted. "I suppose not." he sighed.

"Thank lord for that." she sounded relieved. "Can you speak to him?"

"_Fine._" Sherlock huffed as they changed direction. "What's your dorm room?"

"Floor 3 room..." she frowned a little, trying to remember. "Room 7."

"This way." Sherlock said and turned towards the girls' dorms.

"So who've you lost?" she said after a little while.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock frowned at her.

"You act like you've lost someone close to you. Not recently, quite a while ago, but it's still there."

"What is?"

"Grief." she said sadly.

Sherlock looked at her properly for the first time then, not just a glance. Her emerald eyes stared back, waiting for a response. Jennifer lifted her hand to comfort him, but he instinctively flinched away. He coughed and looked away.

"Not your father then?" she said, not giving him a chance to speak. "I saw the letter on your desk."

"That's private." Sherlock snapped.

"And yet you have it almost on display, like you're glad it happened. No love lost there then."

Sherlock furrowed his brows. She actually seemed rather intelligent.

"Was he..." she hesitated, not wanting to be too intrusive. "Was he abusive?"

Sherlock couldn't help but smile. She was the first person at this school to guess correctly and...deduce? Would you call that a deduction? Yes, he believed so. He nodded once. "But you cannot tell anyone." he said quickly.

He could sense the sympathy pouring off her and it almost sickened him. He hated people's empathetic mannerisms, yet he strangely almost appreciated the gesture. She rested her hand on his arm, which tensed immediately. "Don't worry, I won't."

He looked at her again. Was someone actually being...nice? He subtly opened and closed his mouth a few times before speaking. "Thank you."

She gave him a quick smile before Sherlock stopped.

"Room 7, floor 3." he said, breaking the contact by taking a step backwards.

"Oh, right." Jennifer reached into her bag and retrieved the key. "What time will you be coming tomorrow?"

"First period?" Sherlock asked. _Might as well get it over and done with._

"Sure." she unlocked the door. Sherlock was about to walk away when she spoke again. "You got the potassium and water balance wrong. Use less next time." she smiled. "Catch you later." she said before closing the door.

Sherlock frowned but gradually a large grin covered his features. Finally someone with a higher intelligence. Maybe this week wasn't going to be too bad after all.


	54. London

**London**

Sherlock made his way over to Jennifer's room with a rare eagerness. This girl was actually intriguing him. She wasn't the usual standard idiot like most of the people he had the misfortune to be acquainted with. He found his heart beating a little faster than usual as he knocked on her door twice before taking a step back.

Jennifer came to the door and smiled at him. "1 minute." she said as she walked back inside. "I just need to tie my hair up. Come in if you like."

Sherlock nodded but hesitated in the doorway. "They've given you a timetable, correct?"

She did her hair in a high pony tail. "Yeah." she smiled at him again. "But I don't have to start until tomorrow. I'm all yours for today."

He took a step backwards, allowing her out of her room.

"Where to first?" she asked as she closed the door behind her.

"I thought we'd start on the ground floor and make our way up." Sherlock replied as he begun to lead the way.

She nodded and followed him. After a short while, Jennifer spoke up. "Tell me about yourself, Sherlock."

Sherlock stopped for a moment. No one had ever asked him that question. No one had ever cared. "...What do you want to know?" he asked hesitantly.

"I don't know... your family? Friends? Where you're from?" she suggested.

"London." he answered immediately. "I live in London. Much more interesting place than this I must say. Family wise, my mother is back at home and I have an older brother."

"You mentioned him before. What's his name?"

"Mycroft." Sherlock said in anything but an enthusiastic tone.

"Your family do like interesting names." she commented.

"You could say that." Sherlock agreed. He was yet to meet another person with the name Sherlock or Mycroft and he doubted he ever would.

"So who are your friends here? I'd love to meet them."

Sherlock clenched his jaw. "This is the maths department-"

"Don't try and change the subject!" she laughed. "I won't embarrass you! Come on, please?"

"I don't keep friends." Sherlock said bluntly.

"What? Why not?" she softened her expression as she looked at him.

Sherlock sighed. There was no point keeping this from her. "Jennifer, you'll soon learn I am in fact the freak of the school. The sociopathic genius everyone tries to avoid." he said almost naturally. It didn't sadden him, it only made him better off. More time to himself to learn new things to add to his mind palace and to solve the cold cases supplied by Mycroft.

"Well I don't see why. You seem like a nice enough guy. And call me Jenny. 'Jennifer' is too formal."

"Yes, well, you won't be thinking that in a few days time." Sherlock said quietly, ignoring her last comment.

"I will. You just seem like a misunderstood boy who's been through a lot." she reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. He automatically flinched again. "See! That's what I mean. You've been bullied too considering you're still on high alert at school, if what you said about your father is true, then that is what you should be like at home, not here."

"You said it was impressive."

"Sorry?" Jennifer was confused after the sudden topic change.

"My deductions. You said they were impressive and yet you're doing it right now." he sounded exasperated. "Why can't people just _use_ their brains and make deductions from their observations like you just did? It's pathetic how idiotic they are."

Jennifer laughed. "I'll take that as a compliment." she smiled. "Come on then. Show me the science block. If we have the whole day, there should be time to do some experiments, am I wrong?"

Sherlock smiled back at her as he nodded. "This way." he indicated with a nod.

* * *

"Oh my God English was dull!" Jennifer said as she entered the lab. "Fume cupboard? That's unlike you. What'cha doing?" she said as she sat on the lab bench next to Sherlock's experiment. They had done this a few times now over the last 3 weeks. When they had similar frees, they would meet up in one of the labs and conduct various experiments. They had started to form a bond, both knowing that they most likely wouldn't see each other again once the exchange was over and so were not getting to attached to each other's company. Sherlock couldn't deny he was beginning to enjoy her being around. She had a sharp mind and was able to make him smile on a daily basis. She had made some other friends, but she always spared time for him. She seemed almost proud to be around him. That was a first then...

"You already know what I'm doing." he answered back, not looking away from the experiment.

Jenny smiled. "Of course I do. I was only testing."

"Go on then." Sherlock insisted.

"Electrolysis of zinc chloride." she replied with a smug expression.

"Congratulations." Sherlock said sarcastically.

"Shut up!" Jenny laughed, hitting him gently on the arm.

Sherlock glanced at her and smiled. "What do you want to ask me then?" he asked. "I can tell you're waiting to."

Jenny shook her head. "I still don't know how you do that."

"You do. I told you, observe then deduce. Simple really." he said as he turned off the power pack and bunsen.

She nodded. "Of course."

"Are you going to ask me or not?" he took out the electrodes and turned to her, allowing the experiment to cool and giving her his full attention, a privilege he rarely gave anyone.

"Well, I've been invited to join your year group on the London trip next week... I was wondering if you were going."

Sherlock shrugged. "I wasn't planning to-"

"Oh come on, Sherlock! Please? You live there. You know it better than the others. It's not as if we're being restricted to certain places either. You could show me the sights?" she asked hopefully.

Sherlock sighed. "I suppose I could-"

"Thank you!" Jenny almost shouted and hugged him tightly. Sherlock's whole body tensed and his eyes were wide as the girl clung to him. After a couple of moments he relaxed a little and hesitantly wrapped his arms around her back lightly.

She backed off a little. "Wow, you're really not one for human contact, are you?" she laughed.

Sherlock stared at her blankly. "It's not really my thing."

"Shame..." she muttered.

Sherlock broke the eye contact and coughed. "Let's separate the zinc, shall we?" he smiled briefly at her as he turned back to the experiment.

Science, finally something he understands.

* * *

"I'm sitting next to you on the coach." Jenny said as she locked her arm with Sherlock's in the queue to get on. Sherlock glanced at her arm. It was far more comfortable with her there rather than his mother, but still it felt odd.

They got on the coach and took their seats, strangely distant from the friends Jenny had made. Sherlock glanced at her but she didn't seemed fazed as she put in her headphones and closed her eyes, obviously getting some rest before the long day ahead of them.

* * *

The journey to London was a dull one. Sherlock had planned 14 experiments in detail in his head before they were even half way there. Thankfully they finally arrived so he tapped Jenny on the shoulder to wake her up. The group poured out onto the street where they were given strict instructions by the teachers and were told emergency details. They were all each given an underground ticket and then were free to go.

Jenny turned to Sherlock and beamed a smile at him. "Where to first?" she asked, excited about the prospect of London. "Can we go to Trafalgar square? And Buckingham palace? Oh and what about Big Ben?"

"Why don't we go and see the queen while we're at it?" he added sarcastically as he made his way towards the tube, forgetting to remove the annoyance from his voice.

"Can we actually?" Jenny asked as she scurried after him.

Sherlock made no reply, he only cocked an eyebrow up at her.

She laughed. "Don't worry, I know you were joking. So where _are_ we going first?"

"Trafalgar square then?" He said as he walked through the barriers with his ticket.

"Sure." Jenny said as she followed suit, automatically learning how to use her ticket.

The underground was surprisingly busy for the time of day and Jenny made sure she kept close to Sherlock. He saw her concern and pulled her to the side. He placed a map in her hand. "Northbound, southbound, westbound and eastbound." he said as he pointed in various places. "Different coloured lines mean different tracks. Got it?" he raised his eyebrow at her.

She glanced at the map one more time before passing it back to him. Sherlock frowned at her. He didn't need it, he'd already memorized it a long time ago. "Photographic memory." She quickly explained. "Anyway I doubt I'll lose you that easily."

Sherlock smirked and dragged her back out into the crowd. They made their way to the station where it was flooded with people. Jenny automatically grabbed hold of his arm so they wouldn't get separated. Sherlock stood where he knew one of the doors would be and deduced it would be one of the emptier carriages. "Don't stand too close to the yellow line," Sherlock almost shouted. "otherwise you'll-"

"Be pushed on the tracks by the turbulent flow from the train. I know Sherlock." she smiled as she interrupted him. Sherlock nodded once and saw the train approach. He quickly dragged her on before the hoards of people flooded the train. He stood by one of the poles, making sure she had a grip first before taking hold. The train began to move and Sherlock subconsciously put a supportive hand on Jenny's arm to prevent her from falling over. As soon as he realized he'd done it, he removed his hand instantly and looked away from her.

They reached their stop and got off at a thankfully more empty station. Jenny still walked surprisingly close to him though, which was odd. Sherlock took her out of the station and they walked down a few roads before reaching Trafalgar square. Sherlock couldn't help but smile at Jenny's reaction. It was always very peculiar seeing tourists and he usually found it incredibly simple-minded to see them amazed by mere buildings and statues. For some unknown reason, for him Jenny's expression of joy and curiosity made him think differently.

"Come on!" she said excitedly and grabbed his hand as she ran over. Sherlock shook his head and rolled his eyes as they came to halt in front of one of the lions. "Can we climb up?"

Before Sherlock could answer, however, she'd already began her ascent. He took a few steps back before doing a short run up, giving him the leverage to pull himself up. He brushed off his hands and helped her up. She gave him a grateful smile and sat on the back of the lion.

Sherlock followed her and sat down next to her. Jenny smiled again. "You can see big Ben from here." She commented.

"Actually you can see the clock tower." he corrected. "Big Ben is the bell inside the tower. Common misconception."

She playfully shoved him in the shoulder. "Shut up, I'm not from around here. You can let me off." She looked around again. "Which way next then?"

Sherlock turned to her. "Buckingham palace is a quick walk over there." He nodded in the general direction.

"Let's go!" She said and jumped off.

Sherlock got down as well and stood beside her before they began walking. They approached some traffic lights and as soon as Jenny saw the green light, she stepped out to cross. Immediately Sherlock pulled her back as a taxi came flying past. She turned to him, wide eyed. Sherlock removed his hands from her and looked away, coughing awkwardly.

"Thanks..." she mumbled. He nodded once, acknowledging her before crossing the road.

They walked down the long road reaching the palace, Jenny surprisingly close again. Half way down, she slipped her hand into his. Sherlock was confused at first, but the gesture felt strangely nice coming from _her_ so he didn't immediately let go like he usually would.

"It's beautiful..." she almost whispered as they stood outside the gate, their fingers still intertwined. "Don't you think?"

Sherlock shrugged. "It's just a building."

Jenny shook her head and laughed. "Alright, fair point. This isn't exactly what you'd call fun." she looked around. "There's a park over there. Do you want to find a bench so we can sit down? You can show off your deductions about people if you like."

And that's exactly what they did for most of the day. Sherlock taught her to deduce more accurately and find smaller details about people until an hour before they had to go.

"Sherlock?" Jenny asked as she turned to face him.

"Yes?" he replied, turning his head to the side, half paying attention to her, half to the homeless woman sitting under the tree while he tried to deduce how she got on the streets and how desperate she was for money at this moment in time.

"Thank you for today. It's been brilliant." she smiled shyly before looking away again.

Sherlock glanced at her before looking away as well. "No problem..." he muttered. "We'd best be getting back. The underground will be busy this time of day and we don't want to be late..." he trailed off as he stood and she took his hand again.

"Since when do you care about being on time?" she joked as she stepped in front of him.

Sherlock frowned slightly at her. "I would have thought you'd like to return on time."

"Yes but I've liked it being just us, with no one else around."

"I agree. It's good to get away from the idiocy of normality and the people who come with it." he still felt a little confused by her.

Jenny smiled. "Shut up, Sherlock." she said before she wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. She pulled back a little, judging his reaction for herself.

Sherlock didn't know what he was feeling. He was confused, nervous, unsure of himself...but there was something else. It was like relief and joy and a sense that it just felt...right. Here she was, Jenny, an intelligent, funny girl who considered him as someone more than just a freak. She actually _enjoyed_ being in his company, like he enjoyed being in hers. But this was strange. He didn't understand and he couldn't cope with the feeling of not really knowing what was going on. He glanced down, avoiding her eyes as he tried to make sense of it all.

"I'm sorry..." Jenny mumbled as she took a step backwards, staring at the ground.

"No." Sherlock said, surprising himself, "It's just I..."

"You what?" she asked, looking back at him.

Sherlock glanced back up, creating the eye contact he didn't need right now. "I don't understand." he said honestly.

"Well, didn't you like it?" she asked sadly.

He hesitated for a moment. "I did."

Jenny smiled and quickly kissed him again. "Thank god for that." she laughed lightly as she took his hand. "Come on then, we don't want to be late."

Sherlock smiled back at her, but still felt uneasy. He hadn't wanted to get close to Jenny, but it had just happened. There was almost no way he could have stopped it. What was he thinking? Of course he could have. He could have treated her like everyone else. If only he hadn't been intrigued by her after the first day they met.

The thoughts kept rushing through his mind during the journey back to the coach and on it with the girl's head gently resting on his shoulder as she slept. Sherlock frowned as he looked down at her. How could one girl make him this confused?

He still didn't have the answers as they returned to the school. He walked with her back to her dorm room where she gave him a sleepy kiss on his cheek. Sherlock leant down and kissed her on the lips, keeping the contact for a few seconds before breaking away to observe his own and her reactions.

Sherlock snapped out of his deductions he had begun to make in his head as Jenny closed her door. He took a few steps backwards before turning on his heel and heading back to his own dorm room. Is this what it was like to...like someone?


	55. Young Love

**Hey guys. Just saying a massive thank you for all the support you've given me for this fic through reviews or some of the wonderful readers I talk to. 300 reviews now! Wow, you guys, I love you. And so so sorry to disappoint but I may not be able to update next friday :'( please forgive me!**

* * *

**Young Love**

"I think the appropriate term here is young love, Sherlock." Mycroft mocked down the phone.

Sherlock ignored him. Yes, he liked Jenny and she appeared to like him more, but he knew love was not in the question. Love was a weakness he did not desire to have. "Is there a specific reason you called Mycroft?" he snapped down the line.

"This is the reason I called." he replied. "Sherlock, you do realise this relationship cannot last." his brother commented in a more serious tone.

"You think I don't know that?"

"Mummy doesn't want to see you get hurt."

"Why would she care?"

"She cares about you more than you think." Mycroft said seriously.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Well there's nothing you nor mummy can do. This is none of your business. Oh yes, and if I find another camera outside Jenny's room again, I'll personally kill you."

"I'm only keeping an eye-"

"Oh shut up, Mycroft." Sherlock interrupted before hanging up the phone. He had never actually told his brother about his current relationship status with Jenny, but he presumed he would have stalked them with cameras and made the deduction himself.

To be perfectly honest their relationship status had just kind of _happened._ After London and all, that was it, they were a couple. It was a strange concept for Sherlock to grasp at first, but he was beginning to enjoy the step up in their friendship. People were definitely treating him differently, many avoiding him rather than shouting taunts and others just acknowledging him. It was nice not to have all the idiots sending him verbal abuse.

He rounded a corner and there was the person he wanted to see. He strode over with a smile.

"Been talking to Mycroft again?" she asked as he approached her.

"How can you tell?" he tested, raising an eyebrow.

"You have your frustrated walk on." she smiled.

Sherlock furrowed his brow. "My frustrated walk?"

"You tread heavier and have much less bounce in your stride. Most things frustrate you but you only seem to save that walk for the likes of idiots and your brother."

"Same thing." Sherlock commented as he took her hand in his.

Jenny laughed and he smiled as they continued walking down the corridor. They were discussing different bonds in chemicals when Anderson walked by, accidentally knocking Jenny's shoulder. He didn't apologise, just smirked at the pair of them and continued walking. Without even thinking, Sherlock let go of her hand and immediately grabbed him by the collar and pushed him against the wall.

"Woah woah! Calm down Casanova!" Anderson said as he raised his hands in surrender. "It was an accident."

Sherlock glared at him, not understanding his first comment. "Then apologise." he said in a low, dangerous tone.

"Sherlock, it's fine, really." Jenny said, trying to resolve the situation as quickly as possible.

"See? She's cool with it. Just because you want to be her knight in shining armour. She can defend herself." Anderson laughed. "How pathetic you can be,_ freak_."

"_Hey!"_ Jenny shouted at the same time as Sherlock pulled him back and violently shoved him back into the wall.

"Got your girlfriend defending_ you_ now? Brilliant." Anderson mocked.

"Oh I wouldn't say that." Sherlock smirked at him. "I could easily knock you out with a clean right hook right now."

"Go on then."

"Boys, please!" Jenny shouted, giving the pair of them a look of disgust. "You're both just as bad as each other." She shook her head and turned around, storming away from them.

"Nice one Romeo." Anderson joked. Sherlock turned back to him and clenched his jaw before supplying him with the right hook to the face he had promised, but not as hard, wanting the boy to experience the pain.

"Moron." Sherlock said as he let go hurried after her. Anderson slid down the wall, clutching his jaw and he glared at him.

"Jenny!" Sherlock called to her as he ran to her side.

"He's right Sherlock, I can defend myself." Jenny said, her arms crossed across her chest as she strode down the corridor.

"I know you can-"

"Then why didn't you just leave it? This isn't the first time people have treated me differently because I'm around you."

Sherlock frowned at her. "Well I'm sorry." he said sarcastically. "Sorry I was trying to make someone do the right thing."

"Oh yeah, that's a change. Sherlock actually caring about something other than himself."

Sherlock felt himself breathing harshly. "Well maybe I won't try in future."

"Fine!" Jenny shouted

"Fine!" Sherlock turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. He scowled at Sally as he passed her.

"What's wrong freak? Had a domestic?" she laughed.

"Fuck off Donovan." he sneered as he made his way back to his dorm and slammed the door behind him.

* * *

Sherlock had sat alone, frustrated in his room until he fell asleep. He was awoken by the sound of his phone. He frowned to himself. "Text..." he muttered before taking it out of his pocket.

_I'm sorry I got mad at you. You were only trying to do the right thing but that is no reason to lock yourself away in your room for the rest of the day. Come to dinner with me, please? Jenny x_

It was true, Sherlock had just slammed the door and given up on the day, spending half the time playing his violin and the other half sleeping.

_Not hungry. SH_

He quickly typed out his reply and sighed. He picked up his violin and began playing a slow melody.

"I know you're there." he said as he heard the click of his lock. "The normal thing to do is knock. But then again, I suppose you're not exactly normal."

Jenny finished picking the lock and walked in. "I don't care if you're hungry or not. Me. You. Dinner. Now."

Sherlock continued playing. "I doubt you can convince me that easily." he said in monotone.

She sighed. "I'm sorry Sherlock. I really am. I know you were only doing what you thought would help me."

He didn't say anything. He carried on staring out the window, delicately gliding his bow over the strings of his violin.

"What do you want me to say Sherlock?" she asked sadly.

"I have a series of experiments planned for tomorrow." he said, avoiding the point. "You may join me if you wish."

Jenny smiled slightly as she slowly walked over to him. "Thank you." she murmured. She carefully hugged him from behind, resting her forehead on his back as she closed her eyes and listened to him play. Sherlock found the sensation rather odd. She restricted his skill, but he enjoyed the warmth against his back.

Eventually the piece drew to a close and he lowered the violin from his shoulder.

"That was beautiful." Jenny commented. "Bach, right?"

"Correct." he said, placing the violin and its bow back in its case before turning to her.

"Haven't heard someone play it in years..." she gently placed her hands either side of his shoulders and slowly stroked his arms up and down. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

He looked down at her and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "There's nothing to apologise for."

Jenny went up on her tip toes and kissed him quickly. Sherlock subconsciously followed her lips with his own as she returned to her normal height and kissed her again. She smiled as she felt his long fingers gently caressing the side of her neck. "Good." she murmured. She wrapped her arms around his waist and pulled him close. "You really were affected by that, weren't you?"

Sherlock didn't say anything. She was right. He had hated and wasted the whole day because of _emotions_. He was attracted to her, that he had finally accepted, but the emotional bond he was forming terrified him. He wasn't used to feelings, especially when they involved someone else's too.

"You're more affectionate than usual." Jenny explained. "You don't usually go much further than holding hands." she smiled at him a little, which he returned.

Sherlock didn't really know how to respond. He looked away from her, feeling a sudden sense of awkwardness. "Sorry..." he mumbled.

"I'm not complaining." she said as she gently placed a hand on the side of his face, making him face her. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. I mean, if this is what you act like after a small argument, what are you going to be like when I leave?" she asked, the worry evident in her eyes.

"I don't know..." he said after a while. He honestly had no idea what he would do. He presumed he would act pretty similar to this, only needing a much bigger distraction... It was then he realised he hadn't taken any drugs since Jenny's arrival. Well, he had once or twice during the first week, but she had been enough to distract him from the dull normalities of reality. He was surprised at himself, thinking that it was the only thing powerful enough to distract him, but no, he was wrong. It was one of those rare times where he would admit to himself that he had been wrong, yet he would never say it out loud. He would never admit to anyone that he had made a mistake.

She looked up at him sadly and gave him a peck on the cheek. "We'll keep in contact, you know we will."

He nodded, knowing that in the end their whole relationship would collapse and they'd never speak again. The thought caused a sharp pain in his chest as he looked down at her. "Yeah." he said, more to her than himself.

"I wish the circumstances were different, Sherlock, but there's nothing we can do. I go home next week." she said dejectedly. "So let's make this week a good one, yeah?"

"Alright..." Sherlock replied and placed a delicate kiss on her forehead.

Jenny stepped away from him and smiled as she held out her hand. "Come on then you. Dinner."

Sherlock smiled in response and took her hand, letting her guide him to get some food.


	56. The Parting of Ways

**Okay, I'm going to say now that I'm not going to update next week as I've got far too much school work at the moment. But to cheer you up, I've already allocated 3 days over the Christmas holidays where I'm literally just going to focus on writing so I get ahead of myself. Hopefully that means I can continue weekly updates. Hope you enjoy the chapter :D (and sorry whovians for the chapter title, I just couldn't resist).**

* * *

**The Parting of Ways**

Sherlock had never thought himself to be an emotional person, nor did he think gaining this quality would help him any any way, shape or form. It was only until he saw the way Jenny looked at him while she thought he wasn't looking, that he experienced what could only be described as a deep set sadness. She just looked completely broken. Sherlock knew she did not want to return just yet, the prospect of spending any more time with her was too good to be true. Unfortunately, she had to go.

"I'm leaving at 3 tomorrow afternoon." she said sadly, breaking the silence while they waited for the reaction to occur in their experiment.

Sherlock looked up from the concoction in front of him. "I know." he murmured as he took off his goggles and set them on the table.

Jenny followed suit and walked around the worktop so she was standing next to him. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. You know I don't want to go..." she took his limp hand from his side and gave it a gentle squeeze.

He turned to face her, delicately tucking that loose strand of hair behind her ear. He could already see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes as she placed one hand on the back of his neck and used the other to lightly touch his jawline with her fingertips.

"I'm going to miss you so much." she said, trying to hold back the tears before pulling him down and crashing their lips together. Sherlock had only kissed Jenny a total of 19 times in the last couple of weeks. He had never really understood the gesture. But today it felt like it meant something. He wrapped his arms around her and held on tight, not wanting to let go.

They broke apart, gasping for air as they stared into each other's eyes. "I'll miss you too." Sherlock said honestly.

"I don't want to leave you, Sherlock." she said as a single tear rolled down her cheek.

He looked down at his almost completely broken girlfriend. "You have to."

"It's not fair." she whispered.

Sherlock placed his hand on her shoulder. "Life's not fair." he said in a forlorn tone. "Sometimes I wish it would all just end..."

Jenny frowned at him. "Life can be unfair sometimes but that's no reason to give up on it."

He nodded. "Jenny... I..." he hesitated, gathering his thoughts. "I just wanted to say... Over the last few weeks you really... I-"

He was interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a step back, sighing. "Never mind..." he mumbled as he took the phone out of his pocket and turned around. His feelings were starting to take over the situation. No, they couldn't have been allowed to continue. He needed to be in control of his emotions, _always_. What he failed to notice was the sudden heartbreak in Jenny's eyes. She stepped back, looking at the ground as she walked back round the other side of the bench. She wiped her silent tears from her cheeks before returning the goggles to her face. But it was too late. The reaction they had been waiting for had passed and the experiment they had planned was ruined. She turned off the gas supply to the bunsen burner, extinguishing the flame.

Sherlock answered the phone and lifted it to his ear. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon Sherlock." Mycroft replied down the phone. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"

"Not at all." Sherlock replied, not seeing the point in arguing with his brother today. He might as well get this over and done with.

"You don't appear to be acting like your normal self."

"I don't need your false concern today." Sherlock sighed.

"You can't let this girl leaving affect you." his brother said seriously.

"Mycroft this matter does not involve you." he said in a quiet tone. "Go stick your nose in someone else's business or go make another pointless law."

"She's just a girl. You're going to have to move on. I'm sorry, Sherlock."

Sherlock tightened his grip on his phone. He stood there for a couple of moments, just staring at the blank wall. "Mycroft I'd appreciate it if we did this another time. I only have a few hours left with her. Please just..." he sighed. "Can we just do this another day?"

"Alright." his brother said calmly after a few second's hesitation. "I shall call you tomorrow. Goodbye for now brother."

"Bye Mycroft." Sherlock hung up the phone and slowly dropped it from his ear. He put it back in his pocket as he turned around, quickly noting how the experiment had been cleared away. He furrowed his brows while looking around the room. Jenny was gone.

* * *

The next day Sherlock awoke at sunrise after having very little sleep the night before. He had tried to go and see Jenny again, but she seemed unhappy and the conversation wasn't going anywhere so he had decided to leave her in peace. Something he said must have offended her or something. He sighed as he rubbed his eyes and got out of bed. She was leaving him today. He didn't want her to go. She seemed to be the only person who actually understood him. Once she was gone, he'd be alone again.

He slipped on a pair of jeans and a blouse before leaving his dorm room. He made his way down the deserted halls until he reached the girls' dorms. It was a Saturday so no one would be up for at least another few hours. He approached Jenny's door, knocking loudly. He could tell she was more than likely to be awake with the thought of leaving. He could hear the squeaks of the springs in her bed as she got up to open the door.

"Hey Sherlock..." she mumbled as she opened the door. She turned around, allowing him to follow her in. He waited as she clambered back into her bed, leaving a little room for him. Sherlock glanced at the spot but hesitated near by the side of her bed. "Just get in." she said sleepily. He could tell from the dark shadows under her eyes and the slightly red rim of her eyelids that she had in fact been awake and crying during the night. He carefully laid down next to her, wary of her and the size of the single bed.

She turned to face him, the sadness still evident in her eyes as she looked up at him. She reached her arm across him so her hand lay on his chest while she rested her head on his shoulder. "It's the weekend and you still wear a bloody blouse." she smiled to herself. "Don't ever change Sherlock."

"I wasn't planning to." he responded, not recoiling from the invasion of his personal space as he usually would.

"Do you think we'll ever see each other again?" she asked, a hint of hope in her voice.

"I doubt it, due to our locations and your financial situation, I think it will be quite difficult..." he answered honestly.

She laughed quietly. "Wow, way to drop it lightly." she joked. Her expression softened. "I wish you could come with me."

"To America?" Sherlock asked. He'd never considered going that far away before. Of course he'd been on holidays over the years but had never found much enjoyment from them.

"Yes to America. I think you'd like it there." she smiled briefly. "Whole different range of people to deduce."

"Maybe one day..." Sherlock replied, staring at the ceiling.

Jenny smiled, closing her eyes and snuggling into him. "G'night Sherlock."

"It's morning." Sherlock corrected.

"Shut up." she said, playfully batting him on the chest with her hand. They fell into one of their comfortable silences as Jenny tried to get back to sleep. Sherlock looked down at her, trying to take in everything about her and try and remember it. He didn't want her to go, but he knew she had to. It was one of those things he couldn't change and he hated it. He knew Mycroft wouldn't help. He had hated the situation since it began and he doubted his brother would assist him in keeping one of the few good things in his life in the country. He sighed as he closed his eyes, finding sleep take him over pretty quickly.

* * *

Sherlock assisted Jenny with her case as they walked down to the reception where her taxi was waiting for her to take her to the airport. He looked at the silver car waiting outside and sighed quietly to himself. He turned back to her and she smiled sadly at him.

"Well then I suppose this is it..." Jenny said as the taxi driver took her case out of Sherlock's hands.

Sherlock ignored him as he looked down at her. He couldn't face the fact she was leaving already. He took a step closer to her and pulled her into a hug, one of the rare occasions where he would initiate contact. He could feel Jenny cling onto him, her hands interlocking behind his back, not allowing him to move away even if he wanted to. He closed his eyes, not wanting for this to happen.

"Promise you'll write to me, yeah?" Jenny asked, her voice shaking as she tried not to sob into his shoulder.

"Of course." Sherlock replied.

Jenny backed up a little bit so she was looking him in the eye. She quickly kissed him on the lips for the last time before letting him go. She wiped away the tears she'd failed to stop falling down her cheeks. "I told myself I'd be strong." she said, laughing a little.

Sherlock laughed with her, trying to cover up his emotions. He didn't want to appear emotionally weak. Sherlock Holmes didn't care about emotions. He'd been told enough times that he didn't have them to know they weren't necessary, nor were they helpful. He kept up those barriers for a reason and the one time he let them down, Jenny had walked right in and found a place to say. And he hated it, for now he had to suffer loss again, but a different type this time. This time someone was leaving him by choice, rather than just dying without one.

Jenny opened the car door, but hesitated. "Don't you forget me, Sherlock Holmes." she said, smiling at him, an honest happy smile.

"Likewise." was all he could manage to say before she got in the back of the car.

She looked up at him. "Goodbye Sherlock."

Sherlock took the door in his hand. He coughed a little. "Have a pleasant trip." he said quietly, closing the door for her. He watched her through the glass as she nodded, giving him one last timid smile before the car started up and slowly began to drive away. He took a couple of steps forward, following the car's path as the car drove down the driveway of the school. He saw the silhouette of her hand waving to him. He raised his own hand for a couple of seconds before returning it to his side as the car vanished from his sight.

"Goodbye Jenny..." he muttered to himself, eventually turning around and walking back into what felt like a much emptier school.


	57. Aftermath

**Okay, sorry this is late. Hopefully updates will be more consistent from now on. And don't worry, I'm not suddenly going to give up on this fic. If anything I'll have a break from writing in future but I'm definitely going to finish it. Anyway, thank you so so much for your continued support and for actually using up your precious time to read this. Oh, and congratulations for surviving the apocalypse. **

* * *

**Aftermath**

8 days, 4 hours and 26 minutes since Jenny had left and still nothing.

That was it, just nothing. No phone calls, no letters, no nothing.

And that was all he felt, nothing.

Sherlock felt like an empty void now. The first couple of days had felt horrible. He _knew _he was alone. How could that have happened to him? She didn't have to leave... Mycroft could have pulled a few strings and allowed it. Every thought that rushed through his mind destroyed him more and more, until he rediscovered that one way of escaping this world. He had started shooting up again. More and more frequently he was getting high, his way of running away from the reality. The same had happened with his smoking habits. The small nicotine rush that just took the edge off things. They helped, but not as much as he wanted them to.

And when he found he ran out he was angry. The unusually high levels of anger and fury that flooded through him were surreal. Occasionally he would throw something across the room in frustration, but the rest of the time he'd just sit there, clutching his hair tightly in an attempt to ignore the thoughts his mind was processing. _How could she just leave him? She never thought he was good at anything. It was all just a lie._ He couldn't deal with it. And he couldn't not see the way the light glimmered off that blade on the scalpel he'd used for previous experiments. He had picked it up, knowing it was clean, and made smooth incisions into his wrist, gaining a strange feeling of satisfaction as he watched the blood trickle down his pale arm and onto the floor. It wasn't the same as the distraction he felt with the cocaine though. It felt...right for some reason, but it wasn't what he needed right now. After that, he'd contacted Andy and bought enough cocaine to last him several weeks.

He had considered calling her, or somehow thinking of a way of getting out the country to see her without Mycroft realising until it's too late, but he knew deep down that would be impossible. All that planning in his head and knowing it could never happen just brought on depression. He escaped from the school every now and again to just go and buy more drugs to cover up the overwhelming sadness within him.

But after all that, he was at the stage of just a dull ache that wouldn't go away. He'd accepted it was all over. The likelihood he'd ever see Jenny again was extremely low.

8 days, 4 hours and 27 minutes since Jenny had left.

Sherlock turned onto his side and faced the bed side table where the remnants of his latest high still rested. That was 2 hours ago now and he was on the comedown. The comedown always felt worse each time he did it, so he just kept going and going and going so he didn't have to experience it. It was the worst part. They could last days on end, but usually he could grin and bear it. Not this time though. He had felt bad enough as it was... But not anymore. He just felt numb. Nothing.

No, he wouldn't do it. Not today anyway. He grabbed the needle he had ready for the next hit and put it away in his drawers, hidden away in the compartment he'd made for it. He glanced at his clock. It had been 3 days since he'd eaten. He knew he should go and eat something but he just didn't feel hungry. Well, he didn't feel anything, he wouldn't be able to tell if he was hungry or not. He ignored his phone as he saw it ringing. It was more than likely to be Mycroft again. He called multiple times everyday, along with the continuous streams of texts. Sherlock ignored them every time. He still wondered how he had time to constantly check up on him even though he was supposed to be running the country. He guessed it was probably just someone who worked for him. Mycroft didn't care enough about him to let the country fall into disaster. He sighed as he stood up. He presumed the canteen would still be open for dinner.

He got up and had a quick shower. It was the first one he'd had in days... He suddenly felt so unclean. He scrubbed harshly at his skin, trying to get rid of the uncleanliness he felt. He even washed his hair multiple times. He slipped on some clean clothes but hesitated by the door. His hand rested on the door handle as if unable to move. He hadn't left the room in 3 days and hadn't seen anyone in 5... He licked his lips and nodded once to himself before finally opening it.

He stepped outside the room and began making his way to the canteen. Most people just ignored him, but some gave him a rather surprised look. News must have gotten around that the freak had shut himself away in his room after loosing his girlfriend. He sighed as he walked down the main corridor at the front of the school, only to stop when he heard his name being called. He twisted on his heel to see Mr Crey striding towards him.

"Good to see you out and about Sherlock." the man said with a smile as he patted him on the shoulder. "We've been very concerned about you. We were going to come and force you out of your room tomorrow if you didn't make an appearance."

"We?" Sherlock inquired, his voice a little croaky from it's lack of use.

"Mycroft, of course." Mr Crey said sadly. "He called the moment you didn't answer your phone the day after Jenny left."

Sherlock couldn't help but cringe a little atthe mention of her name. "Yes well he would, wouldn't he?" Sherlock replied coldly.

"We've tried trying to talk to you but you never listened through the door." the older man continued, ignoring his comment. "Whether you heard us or didn't want to hear us is another matter. We didn't think you were ever going to leave that room. "

Sherlock thought about it for a moment. He had genuinely not heard them. This petty heartbreak he was experiencing was dulling his senses down. He hated it. "Yes well, I'm here now." he flashed him a fake smile before taking a step back.

"Are you quite well? I think you should see the nurse..." Mr Crey said, the concern clear in his voice.

"Once I've eaten I'll be fine." Sherlock lied, turning on the spot to get away from him.

Mr Crey rose his eyebrows momentarily. "Alright, just try and convince your brother that tomorrow."

Sherlock froze. "What?"

"Well if you actually answered your brother's phone calls, you would know he's coming to see you tomorrow. He's worried about you, Sherlock."

"There's an election coming up, he wouldn't worry about me during a time like that." Sherlock said simply before he continued walking.

"That's what you think..." Mr Crey mumbled. He watched Sherlock walk away before returning to his office.

Sherlock strode down the corridor with a new found frustration. Why did Mycroft always have to stick his nose into his business? It had nothing to do with him. He sulked into the canteen and noted the sudden change in volume of the voices. He glared at those who had dared to look at him. They were all such idiots. They didn't know or understand what was going on. He suddenly felt a hand on his wrist, hurting the cuts he'd made there a few days prior, and immediately pulled his hand away as he turned around.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock..." little Molly Hooper said to him as she looked away shyly. "About Jenny and all..."

Sherlock's expression softened a little. "Thank you." he muttered before continuing his path towards the food.

Molly followed him. "But you're okay now though, right? I mean, no one's seen you in days. It's just... If you ever need anyone to talk to Sherlock..." she trailed off, giving him a small smile of support.

Sherlock let the food tray he was holding fall down to his side. He just stared at her for a short while. "I'm fine." he said eventually before turning around to look at the food available for dinner.

"Well, I'm here if you need me." she said finally.

"Need you? Why would I need you?" Sherlock replied heartlessly.

Molly looked a little taken aback, but Sherlock didn't see as he was facing in the opposite direction. "No reason at all..." she said quietly and walked away.

Sherlock glanced back in her direction. He knew she was only trying to be nice, he didn't understand why, but he didn't want it. He didn't need people. All he has was himself. He settled on having the pasta, after seeing the meat didn't look as if it had been cooked properly. He took it to an empty table and dumped the meal on the table before taking a seat. He looked up to see people looking at him again. He let out an agitated sigh. Ordinary people were so dull. He picked up his fork and began stabbing the pasta pieces with more force than necessary.

* * *

Sherlock thrust his hands into his pockets and began walking back to his dorm room. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder yank him backwards and he instinctively grabbed the hand, spinning the other person round and pushing them into the wall. He had pinned them against the wall before he'd even noted who it was.

"Woah, hang on Sherlock!" James said, struggling a little under Sherlock's grip.

"What do you want?" Sherlock growled as he kept him in place.

"I just wanted to say I was sorry." James explained. Sherlock raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. "Look, Mycroft called me. He explained everything."

Sherlock visibly paled and backed away from him. "What did he tell you?" Sherlock asked.

He could see the sadness and _pity_ in the other boy's eyes. He clenched his jaw as James spoke. "Everything... About your dad, the drugs, your autism-"

"Well then he lied to you. I don't have autism. I've never even been tested." Sherlock said immediately. Mycroft thought he had autism? Since when? He was sure to confront him about it when he had the misfortune of seeing him tomorrow.

"Well, the bit about your father... It all makes sense now." James said guiltily. "I'm sorry for the way I treated you... I was wrong."

"Wouldn't be the first time." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

James sighed. "Look, I'm trying to apologise. Stop being such an annoying git all the time."

Sherlock hesitated a moment. "Well that was mild."

The other boy laughed a bit. "I know you're a great guy really, just with all the shit you've been through I'm not surprised you are the way you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"A lot of people would have turned out much worse than you are after all that."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing.

"I just..." James paused for a moment, thinking of what to say. "If you ever want a roommate again, I don't mind stepping in again. I mean, you're bearable."

The taller boy considered this for a moment. "I prefer to be alone." he said and began walking away. "And don't you dare tell anyone anything about this."

James watched after him, sighing before turning in the opposite direction. Sherlock was broken, and he was ashamed to have tarnish him.

* * *

Sherlock awoke the next day feeling worse than ever. His head was pounding. He'd almost forgotten how bad the comedowns were. The complaining he was doing in his mind was interrupted by a knock on his door. He groaned as he got up and looked to see who it was. He opened the door, not caring about his appearance.

"Good morning Sherlock." Mycroft smiled at him. "Nice to see you've actually emerged from your room today."

Sherlock glared at his brother. "Why the hell did you tell James I had autism? I'm not autistic, I'm sociopathic. You told me that yourself. There's a difference." He snapped.

Mycroft shifted. "I thought our good friend James would find it a bit more believable." Mycroft lied. "May I come in?"

"How would me having autism have anything to do with what you told him? Why the fuck did you tell him in the first place Mycroft?" Sherlock could feel the anger building up inside him.

"Temper temper." Mycroft tutted. "I think this conversation would be better suited in privacy, would it not?"

Sherlock clenched his jaw. "I see the diet isn't holding up very well, _brother_."

Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, I am here to check on your mental and physical well being, not to be insulted."

Sherlock slammed his door behind him as he stepped out, making sure he had the key. "Well here I am! Make the deductions for yourself." he said coldly before he began walking down the corridor.

Mycroft followed him, taking a deep breath before speaking. "Sherlock, I can see the departure of this girl is affecting you, and I'm sorry-"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Sherlock suddenly interrupted, turning on his heel to face his brother. "Why is everyone apologising that she's gone. That's all it is. She's out of my life now. Everything's back to normal. Welcome back the same, dull, monotonous life I had before."

Mycroft frowned. "I didn't think your opinion of her would change so drastically."

"You don't know how I think Mycroft. You don't understand what goes through my mind."

"I understand more than you think." the elder Holmes said. "Everyday it feels like you're going to go insane without some kind of mental stimulation, some kind of challenge to keep you going through the day. And when there isn't anything to keep you occupied..." he trailed off, looking at Sherlock sternly. "You go and _find_ something to occupy you." he lowered his voice. "You do not become interested in substance abuse."

Sherlock glared at him. "What I do in my spare time has nothing to do with you."

"I'm your brother, it has everything to do with me." Sherlock opened his mouth to argue but Mycroft continued none the less. "If you don't clean up your act in the next month, I'll be sending you right back to rehab."

The younger Holmes stared at his brother. "I presume that means you haven't told our mother about this current predicament."

"Mummy does not know, no." Mycroft said quietly. "And I intend to keep it that way as long as you do as your told. You're not alone in this Sherlock. Sometimes people are actually here to help you."

"Yes, but we both know many people aren't to be trusted."

"People can be like fire, Sherlock. They appear to provide warmth and assistance, but in the end you just get burned. Young Jenny was an example of this. Do not make the same mistake again." he said solemnly.

"It was a mistake I never intended to make." Sherlock said through clenched teeth. "If I recall correctly, you had some involvement in my initial encounter with her."

"And I apologise for making that mistake. But it was always going to end like this."

"Next time, let me choose who I'd wish to meet or interact with. If I ever find out you're involved in events which affect my life, I will hold you solely responsible." He turned back around and continued walking.

"I only do what I think would be best for you, Sherlock. One month." Mycroft said after him. "I only wish that you could see that." he added, muttering it under his breath.

* * *

**Right, there's another chapter for you all. A few of you said you were sad about James so I thought I'd tie up some loose ends, just so you know I'm not as evil as Moffat can be. If you ever have any requests on what you want to be in the fic just leave it in a review and I'll see what I can do :)**

**And of course, my next update won't be for another week so, Merry Christmas everyone :)**


	58. Always one for Extravagances

**Always one for Extravagances**

Sherlock had done his best to cover up his drug taking habits, managing to reduce his intake drastically, for now. It was enough to convince Mycroft to give him another week to 'stop completely'. Sherlock could just about cope without the drugs for that time, knowing his brother had begun installing cameras into his room again. He removed them all but one, pretending he didn't know it was there so his brother would see he'd stopped. He even bought some nicotine patches to convince him further. He hadn't quit smoking, but if it looked like he was trying to clean himself up, Mycroft would be more likely to leave him alone.

It worked.

Mycroft came to visit him one week after, as promised, and confirmed for himself that Sherlock appeared to be in much greater health. He mentioned nothing of the nicotine patches, but the elder Holmes smiled to himself as he saw the very edge of one poking out from Sherlock's sleeve. Maybe there was hope for him yet...

Sherlock smirked once Mycroft had left him. He glanced down at his wrist, making sure it was visible enough for Mycroft to have seen it. He must have done, especially considering his observational skills were equal to or maybe even greater than his own. He returned to his room and played his violin a bit, pretending to still be oblivious to the final camera before turning around and feigning annoyance as he removed it.

* * *

Slowly the spring passed and summer was upon them. Sherlock managed to maintain his habit without little or any suspicion. His only problem now was returning home and avoiding his brother and mother with the drugs. He eventually decided on hiding his drugs in his lab. There were substances in there his family wouldn't look twice at which looked very similar to the cocaine, so he believed it would be quite a good hiding place.

He packed the last of his things before making his way down to reception to hand in his key. Thank God that year was over. He was over halfway through his secondary school life and he couldn't wait to leave. He just gave Hannah his key, when he turned around almost crashed right into Molly.

"Sorry!" she said, finding the grip on her bag just in time. "I was just going to say goodbye..."

Sherlock blinked. "Goodbye." he said in monotone before taking a step to go.

"No, not like that." she said, giving him a small smile. "I'm leaving... Mum and dad want me to go to another school to get my qualifications."

"Oh." was all Sherlock could really say. He didn't know how to reply. "Good luck?" he asked, questioning his response.

Molly laughed a little. "Thanks Sherlock. Maybe I'll see you around sometime?" she asked, hope evident in her eyes.

"If you're lucky." he smirked. "Although I doubt-"

He was cut off by Molly suddenly grabbing him by his waist and pulling him into a hug. Sherlock just froze. The last person to hug him had been Jenny... He felt that horrid pain in his chest again.

Sensing his discomfort, Molly automatically pulled away. "Sorry..." she mumbled. "I'm going to miss you, Sherlock."

He nodded in response, words not finding him as easily as they usually did. He hadn't thought about Jenny in days... Weeks in fact. How could he have forgotten her that easily. He glanced down at Molly, seeing her lips moving as she spoke, but not really listening. Eventually he just coughed and looked back to her. "I wish you good luck in your future and hope you gain sufficient qualifications and achievements."

Molly smiled at him sadly. "Thank you... Goodbye Sherlock."

"Goodbye." Sherlock said once more before side stepping her to leave. It would be different without Molly. She appeared to be the one person who didn't shun him away or treat him coldly. He sighed as he walked out the main doors.

He scanned the car park and frowned when he didn't see his car waiting to take him home. It was highly unlike Mycroft to send the car late. He dumped his case on the ground and folded his arms as he waited. He tapped his foot impatiently and kept constantly checking his watch. He hated waiting. He was incredibly impatient. Where as most people would see that as a bad thing, Sherlock thought of it as a virtue. It meant he could just go and get things done rather than just waiting around doing nothing.

He thought nothing of the faint noise as it grew louder, but suddenly there was a helicopter flying right over the school. He could tell it was far too low to be just passing by. Sherlock's judgement was proved correct as he saw it land on the field adjacent to the car park. Soon people in the car park were talking, wondering who was supposed to be leaving via a helicopter. He rolled his eyes. That person must be pretty pathetic to try and gain the attention of the whole school for their departure. He looked at his watch again. This was getting ridiculous. Where the hell was his ride home?

He glanced back over to the helicopter and groaned. He could see a figure emerging from it and unfortunately it was clearly Mycroft. He huffed out an annoyed breath before grabbing his bag with more force than necessary. He stormed over to where Mycroft was approaching him.

"Ah brother-" Mycroft began.

"Cut the crap Mycroft." Sherlock snapped, fully aware that the majority of the school population currently in the car park were staring at them. "Flaunting your wealth isn't isn't appreciated here."

Mycroft raised his eyebrow at him. "Good to see you too, Sherlock." he said sarcastically. "I'm afraid mummy was using the cars for her latest party and so they're unavailable. She asked me to pick you up."

"What about your cars?" Sherlock argued.

"Well, I was only recently informed of the current predicament. Would you rather have waited for 3 more hours?"

"Yes." Sherlock replied immediately. He would have hated waiting, but that would have been far better.

"This was all I could do at such short notice."

Sherlock clenched his jaw. "Always one for extravagances." he said before passing Mycroft, making sure to knock his shoulder along the way.

He ducked down, avoiding the propellers as he approached. He dumped his bag inside and took a seat, putting on the headset.

He avoided looking at his brother as he got in and stared out the window. He watched as the ground began to get smaller and smaller beneath him as the helicopter rose upwards.

* * *

"Sherlock!" his mother said happily before she grabbed his head with her hand and kissed him on the cheek. Sherlock grimaced. The last person to kiss him there had been Jenny and now it just felt...contaminated. "How have you been darling?"

"Fine." Sherlock said bluntly before pulling away from her, skillfully swerving past her to make his way inside.

"I apologise for Sherlock's behaviour, mummy." Mycroft said to his mother. "He's been rather...delicate as of late."

"Oh it's alright dear." she said, leading the way back inside, already hearing Sherlock's footsteps taking him up the stairs. "He's experienced loss again. We both know he doesn't take well to it."

"Indeed." Mycroft smiled sadly at her, a smile which she returned before they entered the house.

"Sherlock!" Julie called up the stairs. "Sherlock, come downstairs. I wish to talk to you!"

Sherlock dumped his bag on the bed, groaning as he heard his name. He elected to ignore it and began unpacking instead.

"That means now Sherlock." Mycroft said as he opened Sherlock's door and rose an eyebrow at him.

He turned and looked at his older brother. "What is so important that it cannot wait for me to finish unpacking?"

"Because there's not much point in unpacking." Mycroft said before leaving.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. _Great. Where was he going now?_

He dumped the shirt he had in his hand back in the bag before making his way to the door. He strolled back down the stairs, passing a new maid along the way.

_Mother in debt. Second job to make up for it, more tired than usual maids. Father is dead, wearing man's watch, not a modern version. Sentiment. Late for work this morning, guilty look on her face. Worried about loosing her job._

"Just because you're late, doesn't mean you'll become unemployed. Don't make a habit of it though." he said as he passed her.

She froze in her tracks, stunned. "How did you..?"

_Very new then if she didn't yet understand the Holmes' deduction skills. _He flashed her a fake smile before continuing down the stairs. "Try not to look so guilty."

He made his way into the main living area where his mother and Mycroft sat.

"Take a seat, Sherlock." she said as she saw him enter.

And Sherlock did so, on the chair furthest away from the pair of them. "What's this about?" he asked, folding his arms.

"Well, this summer we'll be going to stay in our villa in Cornwall." his mother said.

Sherlock frowned. "We have a villa in Cornwall?"

"Yes, your father and I bought it before you were born. Mycroft has only been to it once when he was only 4 years old." she smiled to herself. "Anyway it will be nice to go away together."

Sherlock groaned. "And you think I need a break from regular life after Jenny."

Julie raised her eyebrows, impressed he'd picked it up so fast. "I see your deduction skills are improving."

"I've had more practise." Sherlock stated.

"Yes, I heard Mycroft had been sending you cold cases." she said in a less than impressed tone.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Mummy we've had this discussion. I just think giving Sherlock the opportunity to gain some experience in the field would assist him in future."

"I just don't think he should be exposed to that kind of thing at his age."

"And yet I've experienced worse than some of the things I've seen in those files." Sherlock interrupted. His attitude suddenly changed into a far more perkier one. "So, when will we be leaving?" he asked, getting to his feet.

"You want to go?" Mycroft asked, surprised by his response.

"Of course! New place, new people. Far more entertaining than the mundane summer I was expecting." He smiled, finding his hands making gestures subconsciously from his enthusiasm.

"Fantastic!" their mother said happily. "We'll be departing tomorrow son. Make sure you have packed everything you will need."

"Oh I will." Sherlock said before leaving the room.

_Finally, something interesting happening around here._

* * *

"Come on Sherlock, we are leaving!" his mother called up the stairs.

Sherlock slipped his coat on and grabbed his bag, triple checking he'd packed what he needed in his mind. He nodded once to himself before making his way downstairs.

The journey to Cornwall was a long one, not to mention it was incredibly boring. 2 trips across the country in 2 days wasn't exactly the most interesting thing to do. They eventually reached the villa, a small cottage that reminded him a lot of Johnathan's... His mind drifted back to that summer. He wondered how Angela was nowadays. He hadn't spoken to her since the funeral. Oh well, time moved on, people moved on. That was life.

He picked up his belongings, ignoring the umbrella being offered to him as he closed the short distance between himself and the villa. He opened the door, unlocked of course. Some of the staff had joined them, their services still available but Julie had allowed them a total of 2 weeks off to enjoy the holiday with them. Sherlock thought it strange. His mother had become far softer since his father had died. It was a quality she had gained which would only end badly for her. Softer people are easier targets.

"Your room's first on the left upstairs, Sherlock." his mother said, smiling at Mycroft as he got her bag out of the boot.

Sherlock nodded in acknowledgement and climbed the stairs, reaching his room. There appeared to be no reason in particular as to why it was his room, but it would make do. It had the basic furniture inside: a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, a small bookshelf with only a few books on the shelves and bed. The thing that fascinated him though was the box on top of the bed. He put his bag down by the door before wondering over to it and picking it up. He read the label attached to it.

_Sherlock,_

_We found this while clearing out the attic and thought it should be in your possession now. It belonged to your great grandfather. Treat it with care._

He frowned at the note before turning his attention back to the box. He judged the weight and shook it gently. _A new violin?_ He opened up the box to reveal the violin case sitting inside, brand new. He took it out and laid it down on the bed. He unzipped it, revealing the Stradivarius sitting inside. He smiled at the corner of his mouth. There were only approximately 650 left...and he now owned one.

He lifted it out of the case, along with the bow. The strings had been recently replaced, along with the hairs in his bow. He quickly tuned the violin and applied several layers of rosin to the bow.

He placed the bow to the strings and allowed the cottage to be filled with the sound of his violin, anticipating what may happen in the weeks ahead.

* * *

**Thought I'd give you something nice and happy for a change :P Happy new year everyone!**


	59. Bees

**Sorry this is late! Life has caught up with me again and it sucks -.- anyway, hope you like the chapter, keeping up the new year's happiness (for now). I'm going to change it to weekly updates on a Saturday instead now so I have time to write on Friday rather than rushing it at the last minute. This is what school work does to me. I hate it. And again, thanks for all your lovely reviews! Sorry I keep letting you down with my late updates!**

* * *

**Bees**

"We're off to see the hives today, brother." Mycroft said from across the table as he prepared his toast for breakfast.

Sherlock glanced up from his cup of coffee. "Hives?"

"Yes, Sherlock. Bee hives." Mycroft rose his eyebrow. "You do know what a beehive is, don't you? You haven't deleted it from that mind of yours?"

"I don't consider them as something I'd be interested in." Sherlock commented before returning to reading the newspaper article in front of him. There had been a particularly vicious string of murders in Cornwall recently, but unfortunately they were on the wrong side of the county to have the opportunity to investigate.

"They're actually rather intelligent creatures." their mother joined in.

"There you go Sherlock," Mycroft piped up. "You've finally found something that matches your intellect. An insect." he chuckled to himself.

"Piss off, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped.

"Boys, please." Julie sighed. "Mycroft, apologise."

Mycroft frowned a little. "Mummy are you seriously going to make me-"

"Now." she said sternly.

Sherlock smirked as his elder brother glared at him. "Apologies."

Sherlock responded with a slight raise of an eyebrow and a mocking smile before returning to the newspaper.

"I think you'll enjoy it Sherlock. They are surprisingly interesting creatures." his mother said, changing the subject away from an argument.

He sighed. "If you say so mother..."

She tutted at him. "Go and get changed. We're leaving in 15 minutes."

Sherlock glanced down to see that he was indeed still wearing his pyjamas. He'd lost count of the days they had been there. At first he was enthusiastic and had ventured out to see the local towns and the people there. It had interested him at first but then he found his mother wanted to do various activities with him. He faked being ill at first, but of course she saw through it in an instant. He'd sat in the cottage, alone, for the first couple of times. His mother went to these places with just Mycroft instead, until she forced him into going along with them to the beach. It was incredibly dull, but Sherlock had managed to escape for a couple of hours, taking the opportunity to have a cigarette, finding some rocks just above the beach to comfortably sit on.

He downed the last of his coffee and got up to go to his room to change. Might as well get this over and done with. He smirked as he heard Mycroft trying to assure his mother that he was only joking, but the woman was having none of it.

* * *

"Welcome! You must be the Holmes family?" A man in a beekeeping suit asked them, extending his now un-gloved hand to Mycroft.

"Yes." The elder Holmes son replied and shook his hand.

"My name's Harvey. I'll be showing you around today." He said, shaking each of their hands in turn.

Sherlock looked him up and down once.

_Mid thirties. Two jobs, one for funding, the other for fun. Finds bees fascinating but the over exposure to them with his job has put him off honey. Working with it all day gets repetitive._

"Mycroft." his brother introduced himself. "This is my mother Julie and my younger brother...Sherlock." Sherlock could hear his warning for Harvey in his voice when he said his name. He smirked as he looked at the man, the confusion evident in his eyes.

"Okay, well, we might as well get started." Harvey smiled at them before he indicated towards the main building. "Best get you into suits and ready to go."

They followed the man to the building, where they were given their suits. Sherlock couldn't help but laugh at the sight of his brother, resulting in him being scolded by his mother, although they both knew she found it rather amusing too. The suit in the smallest size they had for a man still hung off Sherlock's body, which caused Julie's thoughts about his weight to take on a whole new level.

"No more skipping meals, understand?" she murmured to him as they walked out to the hives.

Sherlock glared at her. "Eating is a waste of precious time." he replied before increasing the speed of his pace to get away from her. He couldn't be bothered to have this argument now.

He only slowed down his pace as he realised he was about to overtake Harvey.

"Ever done anything like this before?" the man asked him as he noticed the boy was next to him. Sherlock shook his head. "Well I'm going to be honest with you, not many people your age find it very entertaining. It can be quite interesting, but don't feel obliged to stay."

"You think I won't enjoy it?" Sherlock asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm just talking from experience. That's what most people your age-"

"I'm not like most people my age." Sherlock interrupted.

Harvey smiled at him. "Well then I hope you get something good out of today."

They gathered around one of the hives and Harvey began outlining the basic information about the caring of the bees. Sherlock listened intently, realising that he was in fact finding it quite interesting.

"Why is it called the queen bee when all it does all day is lay eggs? It's a misnomer." Sherlock interjected as the man began talking about the bee type in general.

"Sherlock, don't interrupt." Mycroft warned him.

"No it's quite alright." Harvey said. "It's a good question. It's mainly because the queen bee is treated like a queen as she is the only one. The workers fed and pamper her so she is able to continue laying over 2000 eggs a day. Obviously she can't leave the hive for that same reason."

Sherlock nodded, taking in the information. "Yet she still doesn't rule over them."

"No, but she is vital for the survival of the hive. Without a queen they would slowly die out."

"So what do they do once she does die? Replaced with another one?" Sherlock asked, eager to find out more information. He was already laying out the information in a new room in his mind palace, although he already knew the information probably wouldn't assist him in any way in the future.

"Precisely.. They can live up to 5 years but they usually get rid of her when she's around 3 years old. Mainly because the rate of which she lays the eggs decreases with age."

Julie turned to her oldest son as Harvey continued explaining and smiled. Mycroft smiled back before looking back to his brother. He was glad he was finding something that genuinely interested him that wasn't dangerous nor result in him locking himself away for hours on end. He knew it would be difficult to continue the hobby once they returned home, especially once he'd returned to school, but he would try and find a way.

There was hope for him yet.

* * *

"You're welcome back any time." Harvey said as he shook Sherlock's hand. "If you can think of any more burning questions to ask."

Sherlock couldn't help the small smile of surprise appearing on his lips. A person, someone he'd never met before until a couple of hours ago, was actually inviting him to return.

_Well that was new._

"I can and will." Sherlock replied, not allowing his mother nor Mycroft to make him decline the offer, although when he glanced at them, neither seemed to want to disagree.

"It was nice to meet you Sherlock."

"You too."

Harvey smiled at him before saying goodbye to the others.

As the trio walked out, the elder two of the three could see the extra spring in the other's step. They reached the car and Sherlock memorised the journey home so he could walk it another time. The day had been a pleasant surprise. He hadn't expected to enjoy it at all. Bees were merely insects and yet so much more. Mycroft was right (unfortunately), they were rather intelligent. He'd have to get some once he'd returned home and try out various experiments on them to test how intelligent they really were. But for now, all he knew was that he was definitely going to return.

* * *

And that's exactly what he did. Almost everyday he would go and see Harvey or Lydia, a middle aged woman Sherlock had been introduced to on his third visit, and study them. Harvey even let him go through the process of collecting the honey by himself a few times, claiming 'he was a natural'. Sherlock didn't see it this way though. It was a simple enough method, which he followed as accurately as he could.

Other than that, the majority of the time Sherlock would have the joy of taking a book or two from the study and going to sit on the rocks above the beach. It was where he would have peace. His mother was off doing various activities and Mycroft had left after the second week. He would return for the last week they remained there but had decided to just leave Sherlock to his devises when it came to it. All of them knew that if Sherlock wished to share their company, he would come and find them, which had surprised his mother greatly when one night he came down and sat with her. Not a word was uttered. Sherlock just sat reading his book while Julie wrote out replies to the few letters they had received during their trip. Eventually Sherlock left, bidding her a good night and returning to his room. Julie had spent the rest of the night with a small smile on her face. Small steps...

So when Mycroft had returned and heard the news, he almost didn't believe his mother and immediately took the opportunity to tease his brother, which only resulted in him receiving a telling off from Julie. Sherlock had said nothing and had just silently left the room. He had just picked up another book and a new packet of cigarettes and walked out the front door to go to the rocks above the beach.

Which is exactly where he found himself now. He was returning back to London tomorrow. Although he missed the city, the break from his usual reality had been a pleasant one which he most certainly wouldn't mind doing again. He never thought the quiet life would have been as enjoyable as it had been. He let the lit cigarette dangle from his fingers, his book balancing on the rock next to him, still unopened. Many people didn't like the taste of the smoke, but he always let it linger in his mouth a little longer than necessary as he thought the opposite. He took a long drag, staring out to the sea as he let out the smoke out from his lungs. The waves broke and crossed over each over as the wind whipped at the surface. When the slight gale reached him, it tussled his hair and tickled his cold skin. He had taken the precaution of his coat and pulled the collar up to protect himself a little.

His cigarette burnt down to a stub, so he threw it towards the pair of shoes approaching him. "Beautiful, isn't it? The chaos of the sea and those who dare to touch its surface."

Mycroft stepped out the cigarette butt and wondered over. "I though you were quitting, Captain Holmes." he mocked as he averted his gaze to the reckless water before them.

"Ambitions change." Sherlock commented as he returned his hands to is pockets, trying to keep them warm.

"You should know." Mycroft added, knowing his brother could never really sit still doing the same thing day in day out. He'd always fantasized of adventure and danger. The little pirate captain hadn't left him yet.

Sherlock continued staring into the sea as he spoke again after a few moments. "Studies have shown that the majority children follow in their parents' footsteps..."

"Where are you going with this, Sherlock?"

"That's why I sat with mummy the other day, to see what she was like. It helped me realise, I'm nothing like her." Sherlock took a deep breath and turned to meet his brother's eyes. "I'm not going to turn out like him, am I?"

Mycroft sighed and sat down next to his brother. Sherlock looked completely neutral, apart from the naivety and fear escaping through his eyes. "You are far more similar to her than you may think, Sherlock. One night in her company while she writes letters is not really much to go on. You're making snap judgements. Only create possible judgements after you have attained all the facts, otherwise you are more likely to be incorrect." Mycroft looked at him seriously. "But one thing you can be sure of is that you are_ nothing_ like our father. You can ignore everything else I say or do, just believe me when I say that."

Sherlock looked away from him after giving him a stiff nod. He would admit, yes, he had just jumped to conclusions. He didn't usually do that but in this case, he didn't want to take any risks. He would rather presume he was like his father and change himself than not know at all.

"Come back within the hour." Mycroft said as he stood. "You need to pack before we leave tomorrow."

Sherlock nodded and took out another cigarette as he watched his brother walk away again. Whatever Mycroft had initially planned to speak to him about would have to wait. For now, he took the opportunity take in his surroundings for the last time.

He knew it would be a very long time before he returned there.


	60. Emergency

**Okay so not one my my best or longest chapters, but I hope you still enjoy it! Thanks for all the lovely reviews as usual!**

* * *

**Emergency**

"So how were your holidays, Sherlock?" Miss Bennet asked him as she began stapling some students' work to the walls for a display.

"Good." Sherlock replied, passing her another piece of paper with a student's work. He noted there were a total of 9 errors, only 8 of which Miss Bennet had picked up on.

She smiled, a little surprised. "I'm glad. Normally it seems like you can't wait to get back here. Do anything nice?"

Sherlock nodded. "We stayed at our villa in Cornwall." and he wished he was still there.

"And I'm guessing you didn't go for the surfing?" She laughed a little, the image of Sherlock attempting to surf being a rather humorous one.

"Obviously." he smirked. "I spent the majority of the time bee keeping."

"Really? I didn't think that would be your kind of thing."

"Nor did I." Sherlock commented.

Miss Bennet hesitated a moment before putting down the stapler and climbing down from the chair she was on. "Come with me."

He placed the pieces of paper on a nearby table and followed her out of the classroom, wondering what the woman was doing. She lead the way down the science corridors, past the lessons full of bored teenagers annoyed at the fact they had to return to school after the summer. She stopped at one of the store rooms and unlocked the door, not bothering to conceal the lock code as she already knew Sherlock would either guess it within seconds or already knew it in the first place. She flicked on the light switch and stepped inside.

Sherlock recognised the small room as soon as they stopped outside. He had broken into it during his first term at the school and found the same piles and piles of books he saw now. He had taken some, knowing they wouldn't be missed and returned a few times during the years he had been at the school. However, he had already stolen the books he had wanted to read. Miss Bennet trailed her fingers across the book spines, leaving a small trail in the dust. He could tell she was looking for an older book as she looked at the ones with more dust on, nearer the back of the room.

"Here we are!" she said eventually and handed him a rather large book.

Sherlock wiped away the dust on the cover with his sleeve, a small smile appearing on his face.

"I knew I'd seen it in here." she said, rubbing her hands together to get rid of the dust. "Not everyday you can find an encyclopaedia on bees." she raised her eyebrows briefly before walking back out.

"Thank you..." Sherlock said distantly as he followed her out, his eyes skim reading the first page.

"Some of the information might be a little outdated but you'll find it an interesting read." she said while she locked the door. "Come on then, you're helping me finish that display. You can read your book later."

Sherlock smirked and followed her back to her lab, his book tucked under his arm.

* * *

Sherlock returned to his dorm room, glad to have received his own one again, and set the book on his desk. He turned around to close the door but rolled his eyes and let out an irritated sigh as he fell onto his bed. "I've been back 2 weeks, Mycroft. What possible reason do you have to be here?"

"I just came to check you've settled in." he said, stepping inside the room. "And not run off to Cornwall to live with bees."

"Hilarious, Mycroft. You've truly become a comedic genius." Sherlock said sarcastically. "Now what is the real reason you're here?"

Mycroft sighed and stood at the end of his bed. "Mummy is ill." he said seriously.

"You came all this way to tell me our mother is ill?" Sherlock asked. "A simple phone call would have sufficed."

"Seriously ill, Sherlock." Mycroft said sadly. "She's been unwell for a while so she's going to have a few tests."

Sherlock sat up and frowned. "How serious?"

"I'm afraid they believe she is showing signs of having a brain tumour." Mycroft saw the sudden change of expression on his brother's face. "The key is to diagnose the tumour as soon as possible. If she does have a tumour, Sherlock, it will be in the early stages. Do not worry."

"I'm not worrying." Sherlock said immediately, clenching his jaw.

"Good." Mycroft replied. "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"You're apologising to me, why? Clearly it's more serious than you're saying."

"I'm apologising as our mother is possibly very unwell."

"And yet you were closer to her than I was." Sherlock retaliated. "A mistake you told me not to make."

"Sherlock-"

"No, Mycroft. You're a hypocrite. You tell me to detach myself from the world, not let it affect me and yet you and mummy go around doing what you want, creating connections with people." Sherlock could hear his voice rising with each word.

"The difference between us, Sherlock, is that you still cannot control your feelings."

"I can control my feelings." Sherlock snapped.

"I think right now is a perfect example of how you are wrong."

"I'm not wrong_._" Sherlock insisted. Why was Mycroft saying this?

"You possess knowledge on facts and figures but not on controlling your own emotions. You can hide them, yes, but you cannot harness them. You allow them to hinder you."

"However they do hinder you and our mother. You care for each other and let that cloud your judgement." he argued.

"But we can control how much we care and how we act upon it. Sherlock, you must learn to _control_ your feelings and not let your feelings control you." Mycroft said, keeping his tone even.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you're allowing your emotions to lead you rather than your judgement. Your concern for our mother's health angers you and you're letting it consume you. Maybe she was right. She didn't want me to tell you but I believed you had the right to know about her situation. Perhaps I shouldn't have come at all."

Sherlock looked down to see his hands had clenched into fists and so he immediately unclenched them. He stood up and walked over to his window. He clasped his hands behind his back and looked outside. "Thank you for informing me on the situation." he said in a surprisingly calm tone. "Now if you don't mind, I wish to be alone."

Mycroft nodded once. "I shall contact you if there are any developments."

"Thank you." he murmured, watching as the rain began to fall from the sky.

As soon as Mycroft had left, Sherlock immediately ran over to his bed side table and began rummaging though it with shaking hands until he found what he wanted. He lifted the needle to his arm and injected the substance he had craved so much recently. He needed a distraction, a way out.

This was the only way.

* * *

Miss Bennet was surprised to not see Sherlock when the pair had agreed to meet up that afternoon. He had been going on about doing that experiment for weeks, but he had needed two pairs of hands. So when she offered to assist him, he had readily accepted and organised the time himself. She knew for sure he hadn't just forgotten. Normally she wouldn't be concerned, but Sherlock wouldn't have missed this opportunity unless something was up.

She knocked on his door and waited for a reply. "Sherlock?" she called, knocking again. She frowned, wondering where he was, until she heard a strained cry from inside the room. Concern immediately filled her and she knocked louder. "Sherlock, are you okay?" she asked, a small amount of panic escaping through her voice. She banged louder on the door. "Sherlock!" she shouted, hearing a crash inside the room.

When she received no reply again, apart from another cry of pain from inside, she immediately took out her hair slide and began to pick the lock. She got in quite quickly and her eyes widened at the sight before her. She ran over to him, panic evident in her eyes as she knelt down next to him.

Sherlock was on the ground, clearly having some kind of seizure. His arms and legs were jerking every now and again and his breathing was strained.

"Sherlock? Sherlock can you hear me?" Miss Bennet said clearly, moving away the discarded needles so he wouldn't hit them and cause more damage to himself. "_Help_!" she practically screamed towards the corridor, hearing several doors open at her cry.

His eyes were wide and his mouth open as he gasped for air, until suddenly his body went limp and his eyes rolled back. "Sherlock no!" she shouted, feeling for a pulse. She turned around. "Get an ambulance, _now_!" she cried at the boys who had gathered at the doorway, looking on in horror.

She turned back to Sherlock and adjusted his position and began performing CPR as soon as she realised he wasn't breathing. She tried to keep calm, knowing the boy's life could be in her hands at this moment in time. "Sherlock, please... Come on..." she said while she performed the chest compressions. She cringed as she heard a couple of his ribs crack under the pressure, guilty for causing more damage to him even though it could save his life. She silently thanked her father for pretty much forcing her to take the first aid course before becoming a teacher, telling her "You never know, it could come in handy one day."

Handy indeed, she thought. Suddenly Sherlock gasped and sat up, grabbing onto the carpet. He looked at Miss Bennet with confusion before he fell back into unconsciousness. She caught him just in time before his head would have collided with the ground. She immediately checked to see if he was breathing, sighing of pure relief as she realised he was and put him in the recovery position. She realised there were still people gathered around the door. "If you're not helping, get the hell out of here or so help me I'm throwing your sorry asses in detention!" she shouted at them, losing her professionalism. "There is nothing to see!"

They soon left, knowing not to get on the wrong side of the woman. One of the boys came running back. "Ambulance is on the way, Miss." he panted, looking towards Sherlock.

"Thank you, Terry." she said, leaning back against Sherlock's bed, putting her head in her hands.

"Is... Is he going to be okay?" Terry asked, looking towards Sherlock.

"I bloody well hope so." she said, exasperated.

A few minutes later, the ambulance arrived and the paramedics took Sherlock through the school on a stretcher. Many people stopped and stared at Sherlock's motionless figure and the oxygen mask that had been plastered on his face.

Rumours were already starting to spread on why Sherlock Holmes was being removed from the school premises unconscious.

On why so many drugs had been found in Sherlock's room.

On why Sherlock Holmes had tried to kill himself.


	61. Almost Lost

**SORRY! I know this is late and you don't deserve that... I'm afraid I'm going to have to put the story on hold for 3 weeks because I've just been given my biology A level coursework and it's taking up so much time it's unreal... I'll try and make it up to you with this chapter and write better ones afterwards. So so so sorry! **

* * *

**Almost Lost**

Everyday Mycroft would sit by his brother's bed for one hour between 2 o'clock and 3 o'clock in the afternoon. He would watch the younger Holmes in his induced comatose state for that one hour and then would leave as sharply as he came. Only once was he late but he stayed that extra time, causing him to be late to a meeting with the secretary of education. He didn't care. His little brother was far more important. The hospital staff began to recognise him from his regular visits, however no one ever spoke to him. They allowed him in to see the boy and then he left without a trace.

Mycroft wished he could have done something differently. Anything at all. He wished he hadn't pressured him or teased him or informed him on the news of their mother's health that afternoon.

It had been confirmed.

Their mother did in fact have a brain tumour. She was told three days before Sherlock's attempted suicide after countless MRI scans, CT scans, x-rays and blood tests. Mycroft began to fear they would never have an answer after all the tests, but thankfully it was treatable. That was what had crossed out that motive. No one understood why he had done it, until Mycroft took a look around his brother's room.

It was clear there had been a commotion. The contents of his desk had been strewn across the ground after an uncharacteristic fit of rage and deep set sadness. Mycroft had recovered the majority of the items, including the discarded needles and quickly identified the drug in question to be cocaine. He soon informed the hospital on just how much he had seemed to have taken. He picked up the damaged pieces of paper and tried to flatten out the creases before looking at what they actually were. Each page was addressed the same way: a simple '_dear_ Sherlock' in neat, slanted handwriting. He looked through them to identify the sender, sighing to himself sadly as he found they were from Jenny. The envelope on the ground had various stamps and posting details on it. They'd got lost... And all that time Sherlock had thought Jenny had forgotten about him. The poor girl only had enough money to send her various letters in one go. International posting cost so much nowadays. He skim read through them, knowing it was invading Sherlock's privacy but that had never stopped him before.

_Dear Sherlock,_

_I've just got back home. Missing everyone so much already...__...I hope you won't worry about this letter coming late. International shipping is incredibly inefficient nowadays so this better get to you at some point...__...Missing you so so much..._

_...Love from Jenny._

_Dear Sherlock, _

_Decided to write you a few letters so you can reply in one go and it makes things cheaper for me... Hope school isn't too boring without me. I still remember how much you used to complain about it. Sometimes it's almost as if I can still hear you..._

_...Love from Jenny._

_Dear Sherlock,_

_My parents told me we're going to Florida for the summer! They've been saving up for years apparently. I can't wait!... Just remember I still love you, Sherlock. And I miss you more as every day passes..._

_...Love from Jenny._

Mycroft still couldn't see why Sherlock would be so upset. If anything this should have made him happy, shouldn't it? He looked over to Sherlock's laptop and turned it on. It had been fortunate enough to not have been destroyed by Sherlock's anger, unlike his poor microscope with a broken bed and smashed lens. He frowned at the last letter. _We're only going to small town on the outside of Orlando, but it's still a holiday._ His heart dropped as he saw the old news page it had been left on.

_14 lost their lives during a shooting in Orlando, Florida..._

_...Among the dead are 7 year old Samuel Johnson, 15 year old Jennifer Hylands..._

Mycroft felt a sharp tug in his chest as he saw the half finished letter scrunched up next to the laptop. Sherlock seemed to have begun to write a reply, only stopping when he was about to ask how her holiday had been. He must have remembered the accident, only finding out now that Jenny had been involved and unfortunately lost her life. He wished he had known beforehand so he would have been able to break the news to Sherlock himself.

Sherlock's mother had been diagnosed with cancer, his girlfriend had been killed and judging by the bruising around his ribcage, back and stomach, it appeared he had also been beaten up by more people than he could usually take on.

He had found it all out in the same 4 hours.

It had finally broken him.

So Mycroft sat by his bedside, everyday, just thinking about how he could try and make Sherlock's life better. After all Sherlock had been through throughout his short life, Mycroft couldn't help but blame himself. He had promised to protect him.

He had failed.

Mycroft looked up as he heard a sharp knock on the door. No one visited his brother other than himself and his mother, but she had already seen him today and it was highly she would return. Seeing him in this state upset her too much for a second visit.

"Enter." the elder Holmes said, looking back down to his brother's inanimate form.

A nurse stepped inside, giving the other man a small smile. "Mycroft Holmes?" he asked.

"Yes." Mycroft said bluntly, glancing up at the man. "What do you want?"

The man didn't allow Mycroft intimidate him like he did most people. Instead he walked over to the bed, checking Sherlock's vitals as he spoke. "Doctor Rodgers was planning to bring Sherlock out of his induced coma tomorrow morning. He thought it best you should be informed."

Mycroft nodded, a small smile appearing on his lips. _Finally._ "Thank you."

The other man smiled as he wrote down information on Sherlock's charts. "You're welcome. Would you like anything while you're here? Coffee? Tea?"

Mycroft shook his head. "No thank you." he glanced to his watch. "I should be leaving now anyway." he said as he stood.

"I presume we'll be seeing you again tomorrow, sir?" the nurse asked, holding the door open for him.

"Yes, you will..." he trailed off, not knowing the man's name.

"Lionel Parker." he finished for him. "Good afternoon, sir." he said, walking in the opposite direction to where Mycroft was headed.

Mycroft looked back to his brother before stepping back inside the room, dumping the newspaper he'd picked up on the bedside table. He closed the door, glad to know he could see Sherlock properly for the first time since the incident tomorrow.

* * *

The first thing Sherlock registered was how bright the light was.

People were wrong. Your life didn't flash before your eyes when you died. Everything just went black and he was at peace.

At least that's what he thought.

He groaned as he tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes, finding he was too weak to. His arms felt as if they were fixed by his side. He slowly opened his eyes ad let his eyes adjust to the light.

"Welcome back." he heard a male voice say. _Overly friendly, wanting to make it seem like he was safe. Safe places, heaven? No don't be stupid, heaven doesn't exist. When you die, you die. No, he wasn't dead. Hospital. Oh great. _"How are you feeling?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, only to find his voice was almost gone after its lack of use. "How..." he croaked in a whisper. "How long have I been out?" he managed.

"Here." the man said, passing him a cup of water, but after seeing Sherlock only manage to lift his hand a little way, he put the cup to his lips and let Sherlock drink a little before he replied. "6 days. You were unconscious for quite a while but doctor Rodgers decided to put you in an induced coma so your body could repair itself easier."

"So my body could what?" Sherlock asked, his voice coming back to him a little easier.

"Repair itself... You don't remember?"

Sherlock fully opened his eyes and looked at the sandy blonde haired man. "Who are you?"

"Lionel Parker. I'm one of the nurses here." he explained pulling up a chair next to him, leaving Mycroft's chair where it was. "Do you remember anything about what happened to you?"

Sherlock frowned, trying to concentrate but the drugs they were pumping through his body were making his mind go all fuzzy. It was starting to get on his nerves. "No..."

Lionel smiled sadly at him. "You severely overdosed on cocaine... It appeared to be an attempted suicide."

"No, I can't have. I wouldn't..." he trailed off. He had. Suddenly he began to remember things. Mycroft's phone call about his mother. Anderson and several other boys attacking him in the corridor. He specifically remembered a couple of teachers who hated him turning a blind eye and continuing walking. And then there was Jenny's letters... Jenny.

"Hey hey hey! Easy mate. Deep breaths." he distantly heard Lionel saying. It was then he realised he had begun hyperventilating. "It's alright."

Sherlock managed to calm himself down, squeezing his eyes shut as his breathing returned to normal. He felt a sharp pain in his chest and groaned again. He hadn't broken any ribs after his attack. Yes, he may of had a few bruises and had been winded, but broken ribs? No. "Why are my ribs broken?" he asked, feeling more confused with every passing minute.

"It's probably from when one of your teachers performed CPR on you. Lucky she did too, otherwise you wouldn't be here right now." he explained.

Memories continued to flash back to him. He remembered opening his eyes and... Miss Bennet. He was supposed to be meeting her. She must have come to see if he was okay...

"Do you think you'll be okay? I need to continue my rounds for today." Lionel said. Sherlock looked over to him before nodding. "Alright. There's a buzzer here if you need anything." he pointed to an orange button attached to the railing of the bed. "Oh and I should probably warn you, I think your brother's coming to see you later. I remember seeing my brother wan't exactly a joy at your age."

Sherlock groaned and hit his head against the pillow. "Does he have to?" he complained.

"Well he has been everyday so I doubt he'll make an exception." Lionel said with an amused smile on his face.

He sighed. "_Fine._" he huffed, finding the energy to start moving his fingers with ease.

"I'll be in to check on you later." Lionel said finally and left the room.

Sherlock looked around, seeing the usual lack of presents and 'get well soon' cards that he commonly saw in other rooms. With more effort than he thought it would require, Sherlock reached out and picked up yesterday's newspaper that had been left there, presumably by Mycroft if he knew he was going to wake up. He quickly read the whole thing, pausing briefly as a different nurse came in to check his vitals and run a couple of tests. He completed the puzzles and reread the whole thing again before dumping it back on the side. He'd been awake no longer than 20 minutes.

He was already bored.


	62. Boredom, Targets and Apples

**Thanks for your wonderful patience! Next chapter up and running for you so I hope you enjoy it :)**

**Right, just a prior warning to you all: I've gone back and reread my fic so far and once I've finished writing the whole thing I'm going to go back and do a semi-rewrite if you know what I mean before moving on to another fic. This will probably include extra chapters from when he was younger, more detailed writing and getting rid of all these annoying A/Ns I do. So if you like this fic the way it is now, when it's over you might want to unfollow it unless you're interested. It will probably be done in bulk anyway so yeah. And yeah I have changed my username and the picture for this fic.**

**And a quick reply to Sarah (guest reviewer): sure you can translate it if you want, I have no issues with that as long as you give me credit if you're posting it anywhere :)**

**Anyway, sorry for the long AN and on with the chapter!**

* * *

**Boredom, Targets and Apples**

Sherlock tapped impatiently on the bar of his bed. The hospital staff had told him his brother had been to see him everyday at the same time, and yet he was already 4 minutes late.

He immediately looked towards the door as it opened, but Lionel walked in instead. Sherlock sighed and fell back down onto the bed from his seated position.

"Sorry, I'm not exactly who you want to see right now." the nurse said, writing down on Sherlock's charts. "No sign of your brother yet."

Sherlock hummed. "He's the last person I want to see right now."

"You do realise if you don't want to see him, you don't have to. Legally, we can just kick him out."

"You can actually do that?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lionel hesitated, contemplating the thought for a moment. "Well, not necessarily_ legally_, but most people round here think he's a stuck up dick so they wouldn't say no."

Sherlock smiled. "Well they're right about that. Anyway, I don't think you'd get very far if you used the legal card on him."

"Oh? Why's that then?" he asked, returning Sherlock's charts to the end of the bed.

"Let's just say he's above the law."

Lionel feigned amazement. "Wow, I didn't realise we had the queen in our midst."

Sherlock laughed lightly. "You could say that."

"Are you sure you want to see him?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Might as well get it over and done with."

"Anyway, good luck mate. Give us a buzz if you need anything." he said before leaving.

Sherlock groaned and hit his head against the pillow._ **Bored.**_ How long was Mycroft taking? He's doing this on purpose... Making him wait until he slowly and painfully died of boredom. Typical.

He knew what Mycroft was going to say when he turned up anyway. He didn't care if it was 'irresponsible' or 'idiotic'. He did what he did and that was that. But there was that one little word he was dreading. Rehab. That was the only thing that made him regret his decision.

He fiddled with the IV in his hand, knowing he shouldn't but he was yet to figure out how they worked. He presumed it would be taken out by tomorrow considering he was awake now. Small needle to piece the skin for the tube but later removed so it doesn't damage the vein... He would call it clever, but it seemed a logical thing to do.

Why had only 30 seconds passed? For God's sake... This was getting tedious. Sure, he'd been in a hospital before, but he would have something to do. Whether it be a bit of work from school or a book to read, it was far better than sitting here, his brain slowly rotting away.

"Oh God!" he exclaimed, the boredom starting to consume him. He needed something to do. He had to be doing something. Right now. What's here? What is something he could do? _Anything_?

Sherlock's eyes laid upon on the uneaten lunch next to him. Eating wasn't an option but maybe he could...yes. A smile appeared on his lips as he picked up the sandwich. He looked around, finding a slight mark on the wall of the bed opposite him. It didn't take him long to work out the weight of the sandwich or the distance to the wall. The angle of projection would be pretty simple to work out too, well it would to him of course. He began his throw a few times, working out the exact velocity the sandwich would need to overcome the air resistance before finally chucking the sandwich and hitting his target. He smiled to himself as he saw the sandwich split, sending the contents all over the floor.

He repeated this for the rest of his lunch, apart from when he saw the door open and the tip of the unfortunately familiar umbrella, where instead he threw the apple in his hand towards his brother's head, narrowly missing his target. He smirked as he heard Lionel laughing in the background at the flying fruit.

Sherlock ignored Mycroft's look of disapproval. "That's what you get for keeping me waiting." he said, settling back down as he watched his brother enter the room.

"Sherlock, I was 5-"

"Seven and a half." Sherlock corrected.

"-minutes late." Mycroft continued, ignoring him. "I hardly kept you waiting."

"Yes, but I was bored."

"I can tell..." Mycroft commented, looking at the mess on the floor. "I doubt the hospital will appreciate it."

"Well then you should probably turn up on time on your next visit or it could be a lot worse than some food on the floor and wall."

Mycroft sighed taking his usual seat. "I see you appear to be recovering well, brother." he commented, changing the direction of the conversation.

"I suppose I have been purposefully unconscious for several days so there's no surprise there." Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow. "Oh and it appears that you've been comfort eating since the news about mummy. You've gained about... 5 pounds?" Sherlock guesstimated.

Mycroft pursed his lips slightly. "If you were more observant you would have noticed I've only gained 4, if that's any of your business."

"No..." Sherlock disagreed. "Definitely 5. Time to invest in some new, more accurate scales I believe, Mycroft."

Mycroft gave him a fake, irritated smile. "Although I do believe this isn't a conversation about me-"

"If you'd been listening you'd realise it is." Sherlock interrupted, smirking.

"Not anymore it isn't." Mycroft sighed. "Sherlock, your behaviour was incredibly irrational and irresponsible-"

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. _How predicable._

"-and you have caused a lot of stress on mummy's behalf." he finished nonetheless.

"How is she anyway?" Sherlock asked.

"Stop trying to change the subject."

"What?" Sherlock laughed out of disbelief. "As soon as I show some concern towards our mother, it immediately means I'm trying to change the subject?"

"For most people, no, but considering this is you, yes."

Sherlock shook his head. "Unbelievable..." he muttered.

"Since when have you ever showed any concern towards anyone other than yourself?" Mycroft said coldly. "Our mother is seriously ill and you're using that topic to draw away the negative attention from yourself, which is rather surprising actually. Usually you adore the attention you receive, whether it be positive or negative. You said before you didn't care for mummy nor her health so I believe you."

"_No_." Sherlock corrected. "I never said I didn't care. I may have said so in the past, but now..." he trailed off, not really knowing how to finish. He'd never been overly open about his emotions and now wasn't the time to start doing so. "How is she?" he asked quietly.

Mycroft sighed, seeing the rare honesty in Sherlock's eyes. "I promised her I wouldn't tell you anything unless she's said I could. She's coming to see you later so ask her then."

Sherlock nodded. "Come on then. We might as well get this over and done with."

Mycroft leant back in his chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Now just tell me the bad news and leave." Sherlock said bluntly.

"What bad news?" Mycroft asked.

"You know what. You're sending me to rehab again, _obviously_."

Mycroft sighed. "Correct, but not just yet."

"Once I'm out the hospital then."

"Sherlock, it's for your own good. However, this time mummy decided to send you somewhere else. You could call it a private rehab, so to speak."

"A private rehab?" Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. There's more communication between you and the doctors and therapists."

Sherlock groaned. Yes, of course that was exactly what he needed...idiot.

MYcroft ignored him. "There's also the opportunity to join a 'buddy' regime, which of course you would dislike to do but we've signed you up for anyway."

"Oh great." Sherlock replied sarcastically. "And what does this 'buddy regime' involve?"

"A previous patient comes in and befriends you. They act as a friend and yet they assist you in your recovery."

"They sound more like a therapist in disguise so to speak." Sherlock complained.

"You could say that." Mycroft agreed. "But the statistics show that those involved in the regime are more likely to recover at a faster rate. Just give it a go, Sherlock."

Sherlock sighed. "_Fine. _Do they have a library?"

"They do, in fact. They also have a schooling system set up so you could take your exams without falling behind."

Sherlock nodded. "How long do I have to stay for this time?"

"Longer than last time by the sounds of it." Mycroft said, taking a deep breath. "You'll be there for your 16th birthday, certainly. Probably Christmas too."

"Great..." Sherlock grumbled. "Is all this really necessary?"

"It's your own fault, Sherlock."

"Yeah yeah yeah, whatever." Sherlock said, folding his arms. "Is that all?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "For now, yes. Is there anything you wish for me to bring you?"

"My violin, some psychology textbooks and some potassium chloride." Sherlock listed off the top of his head.

"I doubt they'll allow your violin in here." Mycroft disagreed. "And this is a hospital, Sherlock. They won't allow their patients to perform experiments."

Sherlock glared at him. "There's nothing better to do."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "If you say so. What do you want psychology textbooks for anyway?"

"I'm doing the AS exam this year." Sherlock said as if it were obvious.

Mycroft laughed at him. "You? Psychology? You hardly understand yourself, let alone other people's thoughts."

Sherlock glared at him again.

"Fine, I shall bring you the books tomorrow." Mycroft said, shaking his head.

Sherlock flashed him a fake smile. "Goodbye, Mycroft."

"Until tomorrow, Sherlock." Mycroft replied before thankfully leaving.

Sherlock barely had time to sigh irritably before Lionel's head popped through the door. "If I give you an extra apple tomorrow, will you do that again?" he asked, a mischievous grin on his features.

An amused smile played on Sherlock's lips as Lionel closed the door again.

* * *

"Hello, Sherlock."

He looked up when he heard his mother's voice.

"How are you feeling?" she asked as she took the seat that Mycroft had occupied earlier.

"Good. Fine." Sherlock said quickly. He sat up and looked directly at her. "What about you? Mycroft disagreed to tell me anything."

Julie smiled. "Good to hear he's beginning to keep his promises." she commented. "Apart from the obvious though, I'm fine."

"The obvious being you have cancer." Sherlock said bluntly.

She flinched a little at the word. "Yes, dear."

Sherlock nodded. "So you're not any worse?"

"No."

He sighed from the small feeling of relief inside him.

"But..." She began but trailed off instead.

Sherlock frowned. "But what?"

"But I am going in for surgery to try and remove the tumour. I believe you have the right to know just in case of...complications." she said hesitantly.

"You mean you could..." _die_ he wanted to say, but found he couldn't. He'd never found himself in a situation where he physically couldn't speak.

Julie nodded. "Mycroft didn't think it would be wise to tell you after your episode."

"No, mum, you can't!" Sherlock stopped himself saying anything else. That was the first time he'd ever called her mum without an underlying snide tone to it and judging by the look on her face, it seemed she had realised this too.

She smiled sadly at him. "Sherlock," she said, gently resting her palm on his cheek. "There is no need to fret. The doctors know what they're doing. I'm trusting them with my life and you should do the same."

Sherlock nodded, turning away from her a little. Since when did he care so much? Since when did he care about anything? _Johnathan._ _But remember what happened then, Sherlock. He died. He left you all alone. As soon as you care about anything, it gets taken away from you. You'll never be happy._

Sherlock's eyes widened a little as the thoughts filtered through his mind. He rarely thought like that, _ever_. He shook his head a little, expelling the thoughts from his mind.

"Anyway, back to you." His mother interrupted him. "Are you going to inform me on what happened to you a few days ago or not?" she asked softly.

Sherlock took a deep breath and began to tell her everything. His hand found hers at some point during the conversation, giving him the motivation to completely open up to her with each little supportive squeeze of his hand.

* * *

**Okay yeah, I normally update on a Saturday but you guys deserve it a day early after all this time waiting. Thank you for your patience!**


	63. Nothing Gold Can Stay

**Nothing gold can stay**

"Can't deny it," Lionel said as he checked Sherlock's blood pressure for the last time. "I'm going to miss you being around."

"How come?" Sherlock asked, itching to get out of the hospital but dreading going to the new rehab.

"You're bloody hilarious, that's why."

Sherlock frowned at him a little and cocked his head to the side.

Lionel saw his reaction and smiled. "You're entertaining. Most people here just sit in bed complaining while they turn into vegetables. You just cause chaos. Throwing things, annoying your brother, trying to escape. Hilarious."

Sherlock's frown deepened. "Isn't that supposed to be a bad thing?"

Lionel shrugged. "Yeah I suppose so but when you work somewhere like this, it's brilliant."

"Sorry, but you're about to lose your source of amusement."

He sighed. "Yes, well, nothing gold can stay."

"Robert Frost." Sherlock said immediately.

"Hm?" Lionel asked, looking up from the chart he was writing on.

"Nothing gold can stay. It's a poem written by Robert Frost."

Lionel smiled and nodded. "Yeah I studied it when I was a little younger than you."

"And you still remember it?"

"Of course." he said, returning the charts to the end of his bed. "I analysed that poem to its death."

Sherlock groaned. Analysis of poems was by far his least favourite part of English.

"But my English teacher had a really strong Scottish accent so you could hardly understand a word he was saying." Lionel said, smiling. "Nature's first green is gold." he said in a terrible impression of his teacher.

Sherlock shook his head, an amused smile playing on his lips. "That was terrible." he said bluntly.

"Yeah, just a bit." he replied, still smiling. He glanced at his watch and sighed. "Right, well I can't stay with you any longer." he said regretfully. He wandered over so he was standing next to Sherlock's bed and held out his hand. Sherlock took it, receiving a firm handshake from the only half decent nurse there.

"Nice knowing you, mate." Lionel said, taking his hand away. "I hope everything works out for you in the end."

Sherlock gave him a tight lipped smile. "Thanks."

Lionel smiled back at him before getting out an apple from his pocket and chucking it over to him. "One more time?" he asked.

Sherlock chuckled lightly, catching the apple with ease. "One more time." he confirmed, throwing the apple into the air and catching it.

Lionel flashed him a smile before leaving. He took his seat behind the nurses' station and sighed, spinning around in his chair. He watched as Mycroft walked passed him, giving him a small nod in greeting before his back was to him. Lionel leaned over the desk and looked towards Sherlock's room, just catching the apple flying out the door and crashing into the wall, along with the sound of Mycroft sighing agitatedly. He laughed to himself, settling back down in his chair.

* * *

Sherlock looked up at the old building. It was the manor house of the road, yet the road it was situated on was a long one in the middle of the countryside so the title wasn't that difficult to own. It was bigger than the Holmes estate, he'd give them that. The front garden reached forward for several hundred yards, yet he could tell the back garden was far larger. It appeared well cared for with a freshly cut lawn and neat flowerbeds playing host to a variety of species of flowers. Ivy wound its way up the side of the building but was neatly trimmed to give it a homely feel. A girl, who must have been about a year younger than him, was sitting by the pond, throwing in small pellets to feed the fish and next to her a boy a little older than him was lying on the ground, just watching the clouds. Overall it appeared to be a rather pleasant place.

But Sherlock knew better than anyone that appearances can be deceiving.

He felt his mother's hand slip into his own. "Come on, dear." she said softly, tugging his hand lightly.

Sherlock shook his head. "Why do I have to do this?"

"Because you went ahead and overdosed again-" Mycroft began.

"Mycroft," Julie interrupted him. "Be a dear and go inside and tell them Sherlock's arrived."

Mycroft sighed but nodded and began walking down the gravel path towards the large building.

Julie waited until he was out of earshot before she turned back to her youngest son. "It's to help you, love." she said, looking at him sadly.

"I don't need help." Sherlock snapped.

"You may not think so, but you do. Drugs don't do anything to help you."

"Yes they do." Sherlock said, his grip on his bag tightening. "They're an escape."

"Sherlock, they're slowly killing you." she said seriously. "And I don't want to end up going to the funeral of my own son."

Sherlock looked up from the spot he was focusing on on the ground.

"Drugs don't solve problems, they just cause more." she said sadly. "Please." she whispered.

Sherlock nodded stiffly.

Julie smiled, patting his hand lightly. "Let's try this again, shall we?"

They took their time walking down the path. Sherlock didn't want to be here, that much was obvious, but the aggressive 'get inside and stay put' approach they tried last time would be the last thing to do to make Sherlock stay. Julie knew that Sherlock only ever did things because he wanted to, not because someone else wanted him to. There must have been something deep down inside him that made him want to get better or he would have been as stubborn as usual.

When they were almost at the door, a tall thin man in his late forties greeted them with Mycroft close behind. "You must be Sherlock." he said warmly as he held out his hand.

Sherlock let go of his mother's hand and shook the man's. "And you are?" he asked, his tone less than pleasant. Mycroft frowned at him disapprovingly from behind his back.

"Doctor Gary Clarkson." he introduced. "I own and run Ainsworth youth rehabilitation centre." he turned to Julie. "And you must be Mrs Holmes?"

"Indeed." she said, shaking his hand. "It's nice to finally talk face to face."

He smiled at them. "Do come inside. We have a lot to discuss." he said, leading the way.

* * *

"And this," Dr Clarkson said, finishing off his tour. "Is your room."

He unlocked the door, handing Sherlock the key before stepping inside.

Sherlock followed him in, his mother and Mycroft close behind. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he looked around. A whole wall was covered in bookshelves full of a variety of books, many of which he'd never read before. He had a double bed on the wall opposite with a large desk next to it in the corner. He dumped his bag on the bed and dragged the armchair in front of the desk next to the bookshelves, facing the large bay window. The armchair looked far more comfortable than the fitted window seat. He wandered back over to the desk and span it round so it was facing the other wall.

"I take it you like it then?" Dr Clarkson asked as he watched Sherlock begin to move his furniture around.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "I apologise for my brother. He doesn't usually start rearranging furniture."

Dr Clarkson smiled. "Oh don't worry about it. As long as he's comfortable."

"Do you like the room, Sherlock?" Julie asked him, an amused smile appearing on her lips as she watched him trying to move the wardrobe into the corner.

Sherlock shrugged. "I guess I'm going to have to learn to." he said, his voice strained a little from his effort on pushing the wardrobe. He stepped back, nodding to himself before frowning. "Where's the chest of drawers? There need to be some chest of drawers here..."

"There are some drawers in your wardrobe-" Dr Clarkson began.

"No." Sherlock interrupted. "That's not what I asked."

Mycroft looked around before finally understanding what Sherlock was doing. "Is it possible to get a chest of drawers in here?" he asked the doctor.

"I think that would be okay, yes." Dr Clarkson replied, frowning a little in confusion.

"He's rearranging to the room to look the same as his room at home." he explained quietly to him, recognising the layout.

Dr Clarkson nodded understandingly. He smiled at the the three of them. "I'll leave you to get settled then. It was nice to meet you." he said to Mycroft and Julie.

"You too. Thank you, doctor." Julie said, smiling back at him.

Dr Clarkson smiled at them again before leaving.

Mycroft turned to his brother. "Do you-"

"My violin, my school books and my skull." he answered, not having to hear the question to know what Mycroft was going to say. He wasn't given the opportunity to go back to school and pack the belongings he wanted. He was at home for a day and forced to back the few belongings he had there before he was whisked away here. "And some nicotine patches." he added after a moment's consideration. "They never supply enough."

Mycroft sighed. "If you insist. See you next week."

"Bye." Sherlock said bluntly as he began unpacking the few things he had with him.

Mycroft shook his head before kissing his mother's cheek. "See you soon, mummy."

"Goodbye dear." she smiled at him as he left.

Sherlock huffed in frustration as he put his things away.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" Julie asked as she stepped forward and stood next to him.

"I can't finish unpacking until I have my chest of drawers."

"Can't you just put them in your wardrobe drawers for now?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No, everything has its place. They belong in the chest of drawers..."

Julie sighed as she looked up at him. "You're going to be fine, Sherlock."

"I am fine." Sherlock said quickly, not making eye contact with her as he put the few clothes he had with him on hangers.

She smiled sadly at him. "Of course you are." she murmured. "I'll see you soon."

He gave her a short nod. "Goodbye."

Sherlock turned around to find himself alone in the room. He walked over to the door and locked it, knowing they would obviously have spare keys to all rooms but the last thing he wanted was to be disturbed. He strolled over to the bookcase, running his fingers over the spines of the books before selecting one and curling up in the armchair, book in hand.

* * *

Sherlock looked up as he heard a knock on his door. "Sherlock?"

He frowned. "What?" he snapped at the newly familiar voice of Dr Clarkson.

"It's time for dinner if you'd care to join us." he replied, unfazed by the sharp edge to Sherlock's tone. He was probably used to that kind of thing by now.

"Not hungry." Sherlock replied, continuing with his book.

"Come on." Dr Clarkson said warmly through the door. "It's your chance to meet the other patients here and make some friends."

"Dull." Sherlock muttered.

"Pardon?"

"Dull!" Sherlock called. "Boring! Tedious! What's the point in making friends with these people? It's inevitable they'll dislike me and avoid me in the end anyway."

"I'm sure that's not true. Just give them a chance."

"I think I'll pass."

Dr Clarkson sighed. "Well come down and get something to eat and some point. We don't want you to starve."

"Fine." Sherlock replied, bored of the conversation now. There was no chance he'd go and eat today. He had practically been force fed three times a day at the hospital. There was no way he was continuing that.

He heard the retreating footsteps of Dr Clarkson and smiled to himself. He was easily convince then. He put down his book, mentally remembering the page number, and moved to the bay window seat. He stared out across the back garden. A few of his fellow patients were sat outside, watching the sun go down while they ate. This place must get really boring then if they'd reduced entertainment to watching the sun set. It was just a giant ball of burning gas disappearing from sight as the planet spun on its axis. Why did he know that? Pointless trivial nonsense. _Deleted_.

He didn't want to socialise. He never got anything out of it so why waste his time? He knew the therapists and doctors would encourage him to make friends, but it had never really happened before so he didn't see why he should waste his time and effort. Oh god he was going to have to talk to these people during group therapy sessions again. These patients appeared to want to recover as well which just went ahead and made it a whole load worse. No escaping by talking to someone who also didn't care this time then... He wondered what happened to Megan. He was pretty confident that she was out of rehab by now. She may have even fixed her damaged relationship with her parents. Or she could be like him, having 'relapsed' and been chucked back into rehab.

He hated that word. Relapse. _Re_lapse. He hadn't relapsed at all. He merely began taking drugs again. It was his decision.

He wasn't addicted.

No.

Anyone would be stupid to think he was.

Drugs didn't control him, he controlled them.

Say anything different and you'd be wrong.

He was _**not**_ an addict.

* * *

**Just in case you were interested, here's 'Nothing gold can stay' by Robert Frost:**

**Nature's first green is gold,  
****Her hardest hue to hold.  
Her early leaf's a flower;  
But only so an hour.  
Then leaf subsides to leaf.  
So Eden sank to grief,  
So dawn goes down to day.  
****Nothing gold can stay.**

**It just popped into my head so I added it in :P**


	64. Introductions are in order

**Introductions are in order**

* * *

There he was, sitting outside in a circle with a bunch of other teenagers around his age in group therapy.

_Group therapy._

The words sent shivers of displeasure down his spine. They were the most pointless things in the world. After 3 days of nothing, no therapy or anything and just day to day life, he had been forced to attend. 'Settling in time' they called it. What pointless rubbish. It was just an extra 3 days wasted here. The only thing he could class as 'an okay part of his time there' was when Mycroft turned up on the second day with his other belongings (unfortunately minus the extra nicotine patches after claiming 'they will supply you with a sufficient amount' and that he should 'stop complaining'). He'd ended up playing his violin 5 hours straight, only stopping when he was forced to eat.

That was another unbearable thing. Every breakfast, dinner or lunch time, he was dragged down to the canteen and forced to eat at least something. He'd already lost almost all his privileges. That meant no time in the recreational room, no extra snacks between meals (not that he would have done anyway), no phone calls, no internet access and his key to his door had been taken away, leaving it unlocked at all times. They were even beginning to threaten to take away his violin. That's why he ate. The violin helped him think and was the only thing to do other than read. So he ate enough to keep them satisfied, finding himself vomiting the food back up a couple of times after his body wasn't used to such a large intake of food, or at least what he would call large.

"So, we might as well get started then." Dr Clarkson said, smiling at the group as he took his seat. "As you can see, we have a new patient with us. To those of you who haven't met him yet, I'd like you all to meet Sherlock Holmes."

A chorus of "hello Sherlock" spread throughout the group. Sherlock looked up from the spot he was scowling at on the ground and flashed them a sarcastic smile.

"Do you have anything to say, Sherlock?" Dr Clarkson asked.

"Let me think..." Sherlock pondered for a moment. "Skin cells can be harvested until 24 hours after death, where it is then visible to see the stages of decomposition when the skin complexion begins to change to green to purple to black. About a week after death the skin begins to peel and blister as it dries out." he said bluntly. When he was met with a deathly silence, he spoke again. "It's interesting." he said in a tone most people would use to talk to complete idiots.

"Erm... Thank you, Sherlock, for that insight..." Dr Clarkson said after a few awkward moments of silence.

Sherlock frowned at them all. You couldn't deny it was fascinating to know how the body begins to decompose after death. Unfortunately he hadn't had the opportunity of seeing a dead body yet. That day would come soon enough though. So once he'd said these things, why were they looking at him with disgust? Clearly they don't share the same interest as him... Idiots.

He just sat there for the whole session, being told by Dr Clarkson he could join in any time he wished but he did not force him to do anything. He barely listened to what anyone was saying. He didn't care. The majority of the time he just sat there with his knees pulled up to his chest, waiting for it to be over.

"Thank you for sharing, Harvey. Right I think that'll do for today." Dr Clarkson said finally. Sherlock immediately stood and headed inside, only to stop when he heard the doctor calling his name. "Sherlock, I'd like you to meet someone. Come with me please."

Sherlock turned on his heel and thrust his hands into his pockets. "You can't make me go anywhere." he snapped.

"No, I can't." Dr Clarkson admitted. "But I would like you to meet your buddy. You're going to have to one day."

Sherlock grimaced at the word. "Why?" he asked. He liked how everything was going now when he could be alone and just left to his own devices. He didn't want to waste time in therapy or with other people.

"Because you've been enlisted on the programme."

"Is there any way I can_ un_-enlist myself, so to speak?"

Dr Clarkson shook his head. "Only if I have written permission from a guardian."

Sherlock sighed, noticing by this time everyone else had left. Mycroft nor his mother would agree to take him off the programme so no help was coming from there. "Fine." he said through gritted teeth.

Dr Clarkson smiled. "That's the spirit." he said and held his hand out to the door. "After you."

Sherlock stood his ground. "If I do not know where I am supposed to be going, wouldn't it be wise if you lead the way, _doctor_."

"You're a smart boy, Sherlock. Where do you think people go to _meet_ new people?"

Sherlock clenched his jaw. "Oh, I don't know... The kitchens perhaps?" he asked, staring at him with an unimpressed expression.

Dr Clarkson rolled his eyes. "This way then." he sighed, walking through the door and holding it open.

Sherlock followed him slowly, purposely making it the most uncomfortable walking pace he could for the man. They walked into the meeting room, where another patient was currently talking to his parents and older brother and a young man was sitting alone, at least it looked like he wanted to be sat alone but a girl, who must have been the other patient's sister, was currently doing all she could to gain his attention. They approached the man and Dr Clarkson apologised to the girl for interrupting them.

"No." Sherlock said, which caused them all to turn to him. "We're not interrupting anything." he said bluntly. The doctor opened his mouth to speak but Sherlock interrupted him again. "There's no point in disagreeing with me, _doctor_. She was attempting to flirt with him, failing miserably I might add, and of course he wasn't interested."

The girl scowled at him and opened and closed her mouth a few times, not knowing how to retaliate.

"He's _gay_." Sherlock said, frowning in a 'that was incredibly obvious thing to realise, what are you, some kind of idiot?' way.

The girl stormed off back over to her family, leaving the three in peace. The man had an amused smile plastered to his features. "How did you do that?" he asked.

Sherlock looked at him. "It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Enlighten me."

"Well most people would have accepted her compliments and found it rather flattering, but you just completely ignored her. And judging by most people's opinions..." he turned around and glanced at the girl again. "Around 82% of the males I know would consider her attractive."

"How do you know I wasn't one of the 18%?"

"Because you were too busy checking out her eldest brother to pay any attention to her." Sherlock said bluntly.

The man laughed and held out his hand. "Steve Taylor." he introduced. "And you must be Sherlock Holmes. Don't worry, that's all I know."

Sherlock kept his hands in his pockets. "I bet it is..." he said sarcastically, turning to Dr Clarkson and giving him an intense stare. Steve lowered his hand, realising he wasn't going to get a handshake from him any time soon.

Dr Clarkson ignored Sherlock's glare. "Patient confidentiality, Sherlock. Steve won't tell me anything you say to him and I won't tell him anything you say to me, nor will any of the other therapists. That's how the system works. I'll leave you two to get better acquainted." Dr Clarkson said before leaving the room.

Steve watched him go and glanced at the other family. "Did you want to go somewhere more private?" he asked Sherlock.

"Not with you, no." Sherlock said simply and turned around, striding out the room.

Steve followed him, his height advantage making it easy to keep up with Sherlock's pace. "Right, I get it so you're the type to completely ignores all the help given to you."

"_Don't_ try and analyse me or put me into a certain category. It won't work." Sherlock said bluntly, trying to get away from him.

"No, this isn't my analysis of you Sherlock, this is my initial judgement of you."

"Well then judge me all you like." Sherlock snapped as he began to run up the stairs to his room.

Steve ran up with him, catching Sherlock's door before it was slammed into his face. "I thought you'd only been here for 3 days..." he muttered as he took in the state of Sherlock's room. Organised chaos was probably the best way to describe it. To the untrained eye everything looked all over the place, but looking closely, everything was in certain areas and categorised.

"And I thought all you knew about me was my name." Sherlock said as he strode across his room and picked up his violin. "I do not wish to speak to you. Please close the door on your way out."

Steve sighed. "Alright, but you do realise we're going to have to talk sometime."

"So you can get paid."

"I don't get paid. I volunteer."

"Well good for you, doing your little bit for the community." Sherlock said sarcastically. "Now leave me alone."

"Fine. I'll be back again tomorrow, alright?"

"Nope, don't bother." Sherlock said as he continued to stare out the window. "You're not worth my time."

Sherlock heard the door close, but the retreating footsteps of Steve didn't tell him what he wanted. His pace seemed quite casual and calm rather than the angry footsteps he had been hoping for. Getting rid of him was going to be a tricky one.

* * *

"I told you to leave me alone!" Sherlock shouted at the door when he heard a knock, distracting him from his current session in his mind palace.

The door opened and in walked a woman, no older than 30 with long auburn hair tied up in a neat ponytail. "Well this is the first time I've seen you today so I don't believe you have."

Sherlock scowled at her. "So you're my therapist..." he said as he glanced up and down her, finding out everything he needed to know.

"Correct and your psychiatrist." she said, stepping further into the room. "My name's Nancy Attwood. I'll be taking the majority of your one to one therapy sessions every Monday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday, starting today."

Sherlock groaned, letting his head fall back and hit the window. "And what day is it today?"

"Monday. Now would you rather talk here or go somewhere else?"

"Good, that means I don't have to see you for another 3 days." he muttered, closing his eyes but snapping them back open as he heard her move.

"Here it is then." she said, beginning to move some of the things from his armchair.

"No!" he glared at her, grabbing the things off of her and the floor and returning them to the seat. "I don't want to talk to anyone, let alone a therapist."

She sighed. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but these sessions are compulsory. If you do not comply then you will just have to talk later. It all assists in your recovery."

Sherlock dumped a book on the armchair before looking back to her. "If you want to assist in my recovery, bring me some more bloody nicotine patches." he growled, returning to the bay window seat.

Nancy stared at him blankly. "If you do not wish to have your appointment today I can reschedule for tomorrow morning." she suggested. "You are still settling in after all."

"I've been here..." he glanced at his watch. "4 days now. I am _done_ settling in." Sherlock grumbled.

"Then why don't you want to talk?" she asked, perching on the edge of the armchair, being careful not to accidentally hit his belongings.

"Because I don't want to be here nor be associated with anyone or anything here." Sherlock retorted as he crossed his arms.

Nancy gave him a small smile. "I'll return tomorrow then." she said as she stood. "Make sure you get a good night's rest. I'll be back straight after breakfast."

"Whatever..." Sherlock muttered as he watched her leave.


	65. Special Case

**Special Case**

Sherlock took his usual spot alone in the dining room with his chair facing the window. He mindlessly nibbled on the toast he had been given as he watched the rain hit the windows. Winter was on the way and Sherlock fully expected to see snow fall sometime within the next few weeks, possibly even on his birthday. It was rare for heavy snow to fall in autumn, but one could never correctly predict the weather.

"Why don't you just eat it? I don't get it."

Sherlock's thought process was interrupted by the voice of someone he didn't know. He turned and glared at them. It was the boy who had been in the meeting room the same time as him yesterday. He looked down to see he'd subconsciously returned his barely touched toast to its plate, leaving it there and not planning on eating any more.

"Have you ever considered the fact I might not be hungry?" Sherlock asked him bluntly.

The boy shrugged. "You never eat properly. Are you anorexic or something?"

"No." Sherlock said simply, returning his gaze to the window and the rain. "I do not see the necessity to eat, that is all."

"Well you'd die if-"

"Which is why I eat enough to maintain my lifestyle and no more." Sherlock interrupted.

"Oh right. Makes sense I suppose-"

"Why are you talking to me?" Sherlock asked sharply.

"Because you seem interesting." the boy said, looking a bit taken aback. "I mean I heard about you talking about dead bodies during your group therapy session."

"Experiment."

"Sorry... What?"

Sherlock sighed and turned to face him. "Mentioning how skin changes after death was merely an experiment to judge people's reactions and see if anyone here was half decent. Obviously my prediction was correct."

"What prediction was that then?"

"That no one here is remotely interesting."

"But you've hardly given anyone a chance to prove if they're interesting or not. As far as I'm aware I'm the first person you've had a proper conversation with."

"I don't need to converse with someone to tell if they're an idiot or not."

"You can't judge a book by its cover."

Sherlock smirked. "I look a lot further than a book cover to make a judgement."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What's your name?" Sherlock finally asked.

"Christopher Dyer." he replied, not having to ask what Sherlock's name was. Everybody seemed to know that already. "But everyone calls me Chris."

"Well, _Christopher_, I know you've been here for a total of 4 weeks, you have a family who care for you, you're left handed and own a hamster all from your dressing gown sleeve."

Chris immediately looked down to his sleeve and frowned. "How did you-"

"How did I know that? I didn't know, I noticed." Sherlock said bluntly. "You're comfortable enough here to wear your pyjamas out of your room so you've been here a while now. You wear your dressing gown every morning so it hasn't had a chance to be washed since you arrived and judging by the smell..." he yanked his sleeve forward and sniffed it briefly. "Yes, 4 weeks and two or three days since it's last been cleaned. The last time it was washed was most likely to be your mother before you came here, so clearly she was a kinder member of your family to consider doing it in the first place. That clears up how long you've stayed here and your family background. Left handed, that was easy. You can see that you have masturbated while wearing your dressing gown as there is clear evidence of it on your sleeve-"

"Yeah alright I get it..." Chris said, blushing a deep red as he looked around, hoping no one had heard. Unfortunately for him, the volume of Sherlock's voice had carried across the room and the few people who remained had heard what he'd said. "How did you know about the hamster?" he asked quickly, trying to change the topic.

Sherlock smirked. "Bit of a guess actually. Some of the strands of your dressing gown sleeve have been chewed away by some kind of rodent. Teeth are too small to be a rat or guinea pig so some kind of small rodent then. Your sister didn't really seem the type who would enjoy keeping mice and yet she had the loose strands too so it was either a hamster or a gerbil. Hamsters are statistically more likely."

"How the bloody hell did you do that?" Chris said, still mildly shocked from the level of detail Sherlock knew.

"I told you, I observed and made the correct deductions."

Chris looked at him hesitantly. "That's a bit weird to be honest..."

"I see you share the common opinion of most people then." Sherlock said simply as he picked up the remaining toast and dumped it in Chris' hand. "I know this is your ulterior motive to speak to me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have the pleasure of talking to someone who wishes to give me psychiatric help."

Sherlock stood and strode out the room, ignoring whatever response Chris was going to make.

* * *

"Are you going to talk to me about what occurred in the dining room today?" Nancy, as she insisted to be called rather than Dr Attwood, asked.

"There's nothing to tell, _Nancy_." Sherlock said bluntly from where he was sprawled out on his bed. They had already been there for 50 minutes and Nancy was no closer to spilling anything from Sherlock.

"That's not what I heard."

"Oh? Then what did you hear, _Nancy?_"

"That you could have upset another patient at breakfast. Luckily he is not one to get offended easily, however, I did hear you severely embarrassed him."

"I don't know what you mean, _Nancy_. I only spoke to Christopher briefly when he interrupted my thought pattern. Do you think I upset someone by talking to them,_ Nancy_? I don't think that's exactly a nice thing to say to one of your patients, _Nancy_."

Nancy sighed. "Sherlock, just because I told you that you can call me by my first name, it does not mean you need to continuously repeat it."

"Oh, I'm sorry, _Nancy_. I didn't realise your name offended you, _Nancy. _I'll stop calling you _Nancy_ now, _Nancy_. Oh wait, I called you _Nancy, Nancy._ I'm so sorry, _Nancy_."

"I do believe these sessions involve us talking about you, not I."

"Well you'd be wrong there, _Nancy_, for we are currently talking about you, _Nancy._"

"Well then we're obviously doing it wrong, aren't we?"

Sherlock sighed. "So what happens now, _Nancy__? _Are you going to ask me how I feel, _Nancy_? Or ask me about how much I miss drugs, _Nancy_? Well I'm sorry to disappoint but I _don't_ miss them because there's nothing to miss. I'm not an addict and I never was. Your time is clearly being wasted so you might as well just leave now." he snapped.

"Now we're getting somewhere." Nancy said softly. "Why do you believe you're not an addict?" she prompted.

Sherlock turned and scowled at her, staying completely silent. He wasn't about to just conform to what she wanted him to do.

"Sherlock, I understand this is hard for you." she said as she lowered her notebook. "It's going to take time for you to recover, but the best thing to do is begin to admit you have a problem and accept the help given to you."

Sherlock scoffed. "Don't you dare claim you understand anything about me." he said coldly.

"It's my job." she said simply. "Your brother requested me especially to be your main therapist. He wouldn't have done so if he believed I was doomed to fail."

"Well then I'll just have to prove my brother wrong, won't I?" Sherlock flashed her a fake smile before walking over to the door. He opened it wide and turned back to her. "Our session has lasted 56 minutes and 35 seconds. I believe that is a sufficient amount of time for our first session, don't you?"

Nancy sighed and crossed the room, hesitating in the doorway. "Just think about what I said. We're here to help you, Sherlock, that's all."

Sherlock only rose his eyebrows a fraction, waiting expectantly for her to leave.

"I'll see you on Thursday." she said simply before walking away.

Sherlock slammed the door as soon as she was out the way, breathing a sigh of relief. "Thank God that's all over..." he muttered to himself before snatching up his violin. He tuned the instrument by memory, gently plucking the strings. He picked up his bow and rosin and stood by the window, watching the rain as he set his violin down on the seat. He tightened the hairs on the bow before applying the rosin, noting it was running out. He'd get Mycroft onto that. Eventually he picked up his violin again and began to play, closing his eyes as he swayed with the music. If there was anything good about this place, it would have to be the acoustics of the room he was staying in. The sound bounced from the walls perfectly from where he was standing and made a wonderful sound that he was always completely absorbed in.

* * *

Steve leant against the doorway, arms folded and watching Sherlock. He probably should have turned up just after lunch, but after the response he received from Sherlock yesterday, he had decided it would be a good idea to leave it until a little before dinner to see him again. He had an impressed smile playing on his lips as he listened to the music coming from the instrument. You didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to note just how talented the boy was, especially with such a high quality violin in his possession.

"You're good."

Sherlock snapped open his eyes and span around upon hearing a voice. He noted the rain had stopped and that the sky outside was beginning to get a little darker. He must have been playing for hours...

"You don't normally find people that talented at your age."

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, Steve." Sherlock said bluntly before returning his gaze to the window and continuing to play.

"You missed lunch." Steve commented as he walked into the room and crashed out on Sherlock's bed.

Sherlock sent him an irritated glance from where he was standing. "I lost track of time."

"Which means you have to come down for dinner or they'll take that thing away from you."

"And again you prove to me that Dr Clarkson has told you far more about me than just my name."

Steve chuckled and shook his head. "No, he just hasn't changed his tricks since I was here."

Sherlock stopped playing and glanced at him. "Threatened to take your guitar away when you were here then..." he muttered.

Steve smiled. "You're doing that thing again."

"If you mean my deductions then yes, I am."

"Close." Steve said, smiling to himself when he saw Sherlock's frown. "He _did_ take it away from me. 3 weeks without it until I started to comply. Just a warning for you."

"He wouldn't dare." Sherlock said, holding his violin protectively.

Steve shrugged. "Clarkson is a softy really, but he does put his foot down when necessary. He will take it from you if you're not careful."

"I'd just steal it back again."

"Tried that. Just ended up losing it for an extra week."

Sherlock frowned at him. "Why did you have it taken away in the first place?"

Steve chuckled to himself. "Well, I didn't comply and my source of entertainment revolved around making Clarkson's life hell."

"Oh?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow, holding his violin a bit more loosely. _Well this could make things interesting._

"Which mainly involved destroying the place."

Sherlock smirked. "So the burn marks from the fire in the dining room was _you_?"

"I thought you would have noticed that. Yeah, that was me, along with plenty more."

"The 4 pieces of glass that have been replaced in the front door?"

"Me."

"The damaged door frame for room 8?"

"My old room, yes. Slammed the door one too many times."

"The reason why there's locks on all the doors?"

"Well, that was partly Will too but yeah I guess."

"The reason why Clarkson walks with a slight limp?"

Steve chuckled. "And me again. I should probably regret that but I thought he was a complete bastard at the time..."

Sherlock smiled, the first genuine one he'd had since arriving. "That's why I'm paired up with you then. Clarkson thinks I'm going to cause trouble so he called in the assistance of Ainsworth's biggest troublemaker to 'set me in the right direction'."

Steve shrugged. "Probably. Sounds like the kind of thing he'd do. You're not the first person I've assisted though."

"No that much was obvious."

"Obvious?"

"Well you were here at least 7 years ago so I don't see how bringing someone in after all that time would be too helpful unless their memories were refreshed by returning to 'help' someone else. Plus I'm classed as a 'special case' because of the way my mind works apparently..."

"Why do you think you're a special case?"

"My IQ classes me as a genius. They know I have the intelligence to do a lot more damage to myself and the people around me if I don't 'sort myself out' than the average drug _addict_." he said the word with distaste. "Plus I saw it written down on _Nancy's_ notes."

"Well they're not wrong." Steve said, sitting up on Sherlock's bed. "If you do relapse you could hurt people more if you go through a logical thought process and think about how to hurt them."

Sherlock shrugged and sat down on the bay window seat. "But I also know their theory is incorrect."

"How'd you know that then."

"Because if I am classed as an addict, then I have already relapsed."

"Woah..." Steve commented. "That's...interesting."

"Interesting?"

Steve sighed. "I was going to say impressive but that sounds positive rather than the negative thing I was going for and interesting is all I could think of..."

Sherlock nodded. "Right." he said slowly.

"Shut up, not everyone has an IQ that classes them as a genius."

"Don't worry I'm used to being surrounded by idiots."

"Well that makes me feel a lot better."

"You're welcome."

Steve frowned a little at him. "That was sarcasm..."

"Right." Sherlock said, looking away.

Steve looked at his watch, registering the time. "You should probably get down to dinner. Clarkson won't be too impressed otherwise."

"It is not my aim to impress him." Sherlock replied immediately.

"Yeah well it's going to have to be if you want to keep that thing." Steve said as he pointed to Sherlock's violin.

Sherlock huffed. "Fine." he grumbled as he returned the violin to its case.

"I'll see you tomorrow then?" Steve asked hopefully.

"Yeah whatever." Sherlock said nonchalantly.

"Alright, I'll come by around 11ish?" he suggested.

"I'll be here." Sherlock said before leaving the room.

"See you then!" Steve called after him before taking one last glance around the room and departing from it himself.


	66. Happy Birthday

**Alright so I'm about to give you permission to hate me. Sorry guys but there is a high chance I won't be able to update next week :( I've got a lot of coursework to do due in during the next 2 weeks so I need to crack on with it. I wish fanfiction was more important than A levels but unfortunately not :( **

* * *

**Happy Birthday**

Sherlock lay awake on his bed. Tomorrow was his 16th birthday. Most people got excited about turning 16, but he saw it as another normal day. Well, he would if it wasn't for the fact he had been granted a day out with his family rather than spending the day at the rehabilitation centre. He was thankful for the break from the constant group therapy sessions and the therapy sessions from Nancy, which he'd started to comply with after realising he might as well just do what they want him to so he could get out. He hated therapy. Everyone constantly going on about what he needed to do to get better. The thing is there was nothing wrong with him, so why would he need to get better? He had started to look forward to Steve's visits. The guy wasn't to bad to be honest. He had a high level of intelligence if you excluded his dyslexia holding him back in some aspects, which Sherlock had deduced after their second meeting. He possessed the rare ability to make Sherlock smile on a regular basis with stories of what he did while he was here but he only told them with Sherlock's promise not to repeat them.

But for now, Sherlock couldn't sleep. It wasn't as if this was a rare thing but most the time he just wasn't tired. Tonight he was what he could only call nervous. Tomorrow he would see his mother for the last time before she went into surgery. She had spoken of her preliminary tests when she visited last week. Sherlock couldn't help but feel tomorrow was going to be the last time he ever saw her, unless she had an open coffin funeral. He hated her visit. The tumour was starting to take its toll on her health and several times they had to just stop until her headache passed or wait until she could form proper sentences. Sherlock had told her to go into her surgery early, but she had been stubborn and said she wanted to see her son turn 16 and wouldn't hear otherwise. The tumour was quite deep in her brain, but it could be accessed without having to damage a major part of the brain. She had the misfortune of having an anaplastic astrocytomas, but still she wanted to make sure she saw Sherlock through to his later teenage years before the surgery. Sherlock thought this was stupid of course, telling her that she was decreasing her likelihood of survival as the tumour grew while she waited for something so petty as his birthday. But one thing she said had stuck with him and probably would for the rest of his life.

_"Everyone has their time, Sherlock."_

_"I know. That doesn't necessarily mean your time has run out."_

_"I do not fear my death. I have lead a good life. My only concern about leaving this world is leaving my boys behind."_

_"Then go and get the surgery now!"_

_"One does not accept death when one believes they are leaving something behind that needs protecting. Only when one knows that the world will keep turning once they are gone, will death seem like a welcoming prospect. You and Mycroft do not need me anymore."_

Sherlock couldn't help feeling like she _wanted_ to die when she was speaking to him. She had accepted death so graciously. He sighed and got up off the bed, slipping on his dressing gown before leaving the room, making sure his nicotine patches were in his pocket. He walked silently down the halls, hearing the faint snores of some of his fellow patients. He stuck a couple of nicotine patches on his arm and stepped outside, avoiding the light rain by standing under the gazebo. He sat down in one of the more comfortable chairs and looked out into the night. God he wanted a cigarette. He kept subconsciously lifting his hand to his mouth, imagining he had a cigarette between his fingers. He watched a fox run across the garden, chasing a wild hare and catching it in its mouth. The fox looked up at him, standing completely still as it calculated how much of a threat Sherlock really was before scurrying off into the night. Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, finding sleep finally take him even with the harsh cold of the November night.

* * *

"There you are!" Sherlock was awoken by the sound of Dr Clarkson's worried yet relieved voice. He cracked his eye open, seeing the concern in the doctor's eyes. "I don't know why you thought sleeping outside was a good decision but come on, let's get you inside. You're as cold as ice..."

Sherlock allowed himself to be pulled up and lead inside, the warmth of indoors hitting him. It felt like his skin was burning from it, along with the heat emitted from Clarkson's hand on his back. He lead Sherlock into the main living room, which Sherlock had visited once and decided not to do so again, and sat him down in front of the fire, retrieving a blanket and wrapping it around his shoulders. He was shivering but pulled the blanket from his shoulders and passed it back to him, stubborn as ever. "I'm fine." he said, his voice shaking slightly.

Clarkson sighed. "Of course you are." he said, putting the blanket down next to Sherlock so he could use it if he wanted.

Sherlock pulled his knees up to his chest and looked into the fire, watching how the flames danced.

"Happy birthday, Sherlock." Clarkson smiled at him as he stood up and patted him on the shoulder. Sherlock flinched away from the contact.

"Not really." Sherlock murmured. "It's just another year I've been alive."

Clarkson smiled sadly. "Well your brother will be here in an hour to collect you." he clarified.

"Just Mycroft?" Sherlock frowned.

"As far as I'm aware, yes. I do not know your plans but I expect you'll be meeting your mother later."

Sherlock nodded distantly.

"I'll bring you some breakfast." Clarkson said and left before Sherlock could argue.

* * *

Sherlock sat in the entrance hall, waiting for Mycroft to arrive. Unfortunately Clarkson had stayed with him until he ate all his breakfast before leaving him in peace. Now he just felt too full and sick. He changed into his usual attire of dark jeans, a blouse and a blazer and tapped his foot impatiently. Eventually Mycroft did turn up and Sherlock immediately stood and slipped on his coat. "Let's go." he said simply and strode out the front door. Mycroft rolled his eyes and followed.

"Congratulations on gaining another year of age, brother." Mycroft drawled.

"I have only gained 5 days of age since I saw you last, Mycroft. One does not 'gain a whole year of age' overnight. Your congratulations are not in order." he said as he got into the car.

Mycroft slipped in next to him and handed him 2 envelopes. The car immediately began to head towards their home. Sherlock glanced at them. "Nice to see you wrote your own card this year, brother, rather than your PA." he said in reference to last year. He looked at the other envelope and frowned a little. "James sent me a card?"

"Yes it appears young Mr Butler still wishes to be acquainted with you after all that's happened." Mycroft replied, a slight hint of disbelief in his voice.

Sherlock glanced over to him and rolled his eyes before opening the envelope. It was a simple front, with '_Happy 16th Birthday_' written on it in blue and black on a white background. He opened it to see the common printed message of '_Have a great day_' along with a short message left by James himself.

_To Sherlock,_

_Happy Birthday! Hope you have a good day._

_I spoke to Mycroft recently and he thinks it will be a good idea for you to have a roommate for when you come back so I don't mind sharing with you again if you want. Only a suggestion though. Thought you might prefer to share with me rather than end up with someone you despise. Just something to think about._

_Good luck with everything over there and hopefully you'll be back soon._

_James._

Sherlock quickly read the message and turned to his brother. "You told him?" he stated more than asked, his tone cold.

Mycroft sighed. "Yes, Sherlock, but I didn't necessarily need to. It didn't take a genius to work out what happened to you after you had an overdose. I'd say the majority of the student population at that school knows about your drug habits and where you currently are."

Sherlock scowled at him. All that meant was he was going to have far more hassle when he returned. It didn't upset him or anything, no, of course it didn't. Everything stopped affecting him when he was little. All the mocking would just get tedious and repetitive. He was used to it by now anyway.

Mycroft took his silence as something else though. "We can organise for you to transfer to another school-"

"No." Sherlock interrupted. He hated the school, but he knew it. It helped he had the headmaster wrapped around his finger, although probably not as tightly once he has returned.

"If you wish." Mycroft said simply and returned his gaze out the window.

* * *

Sherlock approached the Holmes' Estate, ignoring his brother as he walked straight inside and headed for the main living room where he knew his mother would be waiting. He stepped inside without knocking, as per usual, and sat down in the seat opposite her. "Hello." he said simply.

"Happy birthday, dear." his mother said warmly. "I had a call from Dr Clarkson. Apparently you decided to sleep outside last night?" she asked, an amused smile on her lips.

Sherlock shrugged. "Couldn't sleep." he said as a lame excuse, even though it was true.

"Mummy." Mycroft greeted as he came into the room a couple of moments later and kissed her on the cheek. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"No better than last night but no worse." she replied with a small smile, even though Sherlock could see the sadness in her eyes but elected to ignore it. It was clear Julie was worse than the last time Sherlock had seen her. Her eyes had dark shadows underneath them and her complexion was certainly paler. She had the appearance of someone far older and weaker than her usual self. Sherlock didn't like it one bit.

"I told you you should have gone in for surgery sooner." Sherlock said bluntly.

Julie sighed and turned to him. "What's done is done. Saying I told you so will not assist anything." she looked over to Mycroft. "I presume you haven't told him?"

"Haven't told me what?" Sherlock frowned at the pair of them.

"I won't be joining you today." she said simply. "I do not have the energy." Sherlock opened his mouth to speak. "And before you say anything Sherlock my surgery has been brought forward. It will be the day after tomorrow."

"Then I'm staying here." Sherlock replied instantly.

Mycroft took a deep breath. "Sherlock you can't. You have to return to-"

"I know you're taking me back to rehab_ later_ today but I'm staying here for the _day_ instead."

"You do realised we've paid in advance for some of your activities-"

"And you have more than enough money to waste that way, _brother_, and this is my last chance to see my mother before she goes into surgery. I expect you to respect my decision to stay _here_."

Mycroft looked over to Julie and waited to see what she thought. The woman genuinely smiled at Sherlock and nodded. "It's alright, Mycroft. If he wishes to stay, he can stay. It is his birthday after all."

Mycroft sighed but nodded. "If my presence is not required here then, I shall return to work."

"Bye." Sherlock said bluntly.

"I will pick you up at 6 o'clock to take you back. Goodbye, mummy." he said before leaving, closing the door quietly behind him.

Sherlock looked back at his mother as soon as the door closed. She wore an expression mixed of annoyance and disappointment. "What?"

"Don't be so hard on your brother." she said, earning an annoyed groan from Sherlock. "He's trying his best."

"I didn't come back to see you and discuss _Mycroft._" he said with distaste.

"I know you didn't, dear." she said as she picked up the small parcel next to her. "It is your birthday after all."

Sherlock took the package from her and immediately knew it was a watch by the size and weight of it. Still, he opened it delicately, undoing the tape and being careful not to rip the paper. He flattened the paper and put it down on the side before he opened the box. It was a simple but expensive looking watch, with a black leather strap and a white clock face with a rim of gold. He removed his old watch and took the new one out of its box, putting it on his wrist and giving her a small smile. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, I'll call the maid to bring us some more tea and you can tell me all about some of your experiments and all the details of this consulting detective plan you have."

And they did exactly that. The conversation flowed easily, a rare thing to happen for Sherlock, and he even felt strangely comfortable telling her everything.

Mycroft was surprised to see his little brother talking so animatedly to his mother when he returned. He stood outside the doorway, waiting for him but frowned a little when he heard complete silence from the room for a short while. He peered through the small gap in the door to see his little brother voluntarily hugging his mother tightly, making the woman look even more fragile than she did before.

Sherlock sighed as he released her. "It's alright, Sherlock." Julie said softly. "You'll see me again before you know it."

Sherlock gave her a small nod. "I should hope so."

"Goodbye, dear."

"Goodbye." Sherlock said and left the room, knocking shoulders with Mycroft as he stood in the way. He wasn't in the mood to talk and hopefully Mycroft would pick up on that. He stepped into the car and heard his brother get in a couple of moments later, telling the driver to go. He rested his head against the back seat and closed his eyes.

Sherlock couldn't have thought of a better way than to spend his birthday, with his mother, in the building that was finally starting to feel like a home.


	67. Phone Call

**Thank you all so so much for your patience! Coursework all out the way now so my free time can now be spent writing (as well as revising but oh well) so updates will be frequent and on time from now on in! Oh and just a prior warning that I'm going away for a few days so the next chapter might not be as high a quality as usual. Happy Easter and enjoy Doctor who later (if you watch it)!**

**Oh and a huge thank you to deadgurlagain for leaving me a review about differences in the 80s which I will incorporate into my rewrite :D**

* * *

**Phone Call**

Boredom.

It was Sherlock's curse.

He had been entertained for the first few weeks by the variety of books available to him in his room and he'd read each and every one. But now he had run out and found the majority of the books in the library were the same as the ones in his room so he only managed to read an extra 24. It was so unbearable he was even attending the lessons the rehab set up to try and keep the patients up to date with their school work. Of course they presumed Sherlock was still learning at the same levels as the rest of the patients his age, so they were quite surprised when Sherlock stormed out the room, annoyed at their incompetence. They had given him some A level work which of course he completed without difficulty. He felt as if his knowledge was decreasing with each passing minute. He even made the effort to write to Miss Bennet and ask for her to send his some university standard work. Fortunately for him, the woman complied and that was what he was doing now, sifting through the work and finding himself smiling because he _didn't _know the answer for a change. It meant he had more to learn. It was something to do at least.

A soft knock on his door interrupted his work. He scowled at Dr Clarkson as he stepped in the room. "Sorry to interrupt you, Sherlock."

"Yes. You did." Sherlock said bluntly before returning to his papers. He soon did a double take though as he saw the look of concern on the doctor's face. That, along with the phone he currently had clutched to his chest.

"You have a phone call." he said simply.

"Who is it?" Sherlock asked. He already knew it was, but still hoped it wasn't, the phone call he had been dreading.

"It's the hospital where your mother had her surgery." he said softly, holding out the phone to him.

Sherlock clenched his jaw before taking the phone from him. He looked down at it before opening his mouth to ask Dr Clarkson to leave, but the man was already gone, the door closing quietly with a soft click behind him. He took a deep breath and lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Hello, is this Sherlock Holmes?" he heard a man's voice say down the phone.

"Yes. I presume you are calling about my mother?" he replied, managing to keep his voice level.

"That is correct. I'm Doctor Waters. I carried out your mother's surgery. You were the second person on her list of contacts-"

"Yes, I know." Sherlock interrupted hastily. "Now please inform me on my mother's condition."

"There were some...complications during the surgery."

Sherlock swallowed. "Which means?"

Dr Waters sighed. "Which meant the tumour had grown vastly in the lead up to it so she was in surgery far longer than expected."

Sherlock leant back in his seat, squeezing his eyes shut. "Is she okay?" he asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice.

"She's fine."

Sherlock let out the breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding, a broad smile forming on his lips.

"She's stable and appears to be recovering well. We managed to successfully remove the tumour and she'll be starting her radiotherapy next week. She's well on her way to a full recovery. She'll definitely be back to her usual self by Christmas."

"Thank you." Sherlock breathed, never feeling so happy because of another person.

"You're welcome, son. She should be up to visitors tomorrow if you wish to see her."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He hated people calling him 'son', but he ignored it. "I will. Thank you. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." was the last of what Sherlock heard before hanging up. He ignored the usual rule of asking permission to use the phone and immediately dialled Mycroft's number.

"Mycroft Holmes." his brother answered formally.

"Mycroft, you need to give me permission to visit mother tomorrow." He said immediately.

"Ah, hello to you too, brother."

"Shut up. Can you give me permission or not?" Sherlock snapped.

Mycroft sighed. "Of course I can. Dr Waters told you the good news I presume?"

"Yes. Now please contact Dr Clarkson immediately."

"Please? You really must be desperate to see her." Mycroft mocked him.

"Shut up."

"Temper temper." Mycroft chuckled to himself. "Okay, Sherlock. I shall organise a day out for you, but first you must hang up and return the phone to Dr Clarkson himself."

"How do you know he isn't here?"

"The acoustics of your room are different to his and you must always be in his office to take calls. Clearly he thought the news about our mother should be something discussed in private and I know for a fact you didn't ask him to call me."

"Oh? Why do you think that?"

"Because it's _you_, Sherlock." came the slightly amused reply. "Now go and return the phone to Clarkson and I won't mention this phone call, even though he will see it on his phone bill."

Sherlock huffed. "_Fine._ I shall be expecting you at 9 o'clock."

"Goodbye, Sherlock."

Sherlock hung up the phone before hurrying out his room back to Dr Clarkson's office. He burst inside, ignoring the 'always knock before entering rule' as usual, and thrust the phone into his hands. "Good news then?"

Sherlock nodded. "They said she will be allowed visitors tomorrow. I expect my brother will call soon to make necessary arrangements."

As if on cue, the phone suddenly began ringing. Clarkson rose a suspicious eyebrow but said nothing before he answered and ushered Sherlock out with a wave of his hand.

* * *

"Good to see you, Sher-"

"Yeah, okay." Sherlock interrupted Mycroft as he walked straight past him. "Goodbye, Mycroft. Thank you for bringing the car. Your presence isn't required."

"If you hadn't realised, she is _our_ mother. I am joining you."

"You have multiple chances to see her. _I_ do not." Sherlock argued.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. Sherlock ignored him and got into the car, not really caring if Mycroft came or not, as long as he had some time to privately talk to his mother.

The journey was a quiet one, where Sherlock ignored whatever attempt at a conversation starter Mycroft made. He tapped his foot impatiently, watching as the world passed by. He got out the car before it had fully stopped and began walking towards the main hospital building. "Room number?" he called back to Mycroft, who was only just getting out of the car.

"Two hundred and forty three." Mycroft called back, shaking his head at his brother's haste.

Sherlock immediately increased his pace and strode through the hospital, picking up on every little imperfection. He didn't understand why she hadn't been admitted to St. Bart's. It was a far better hospital and was closer to home and yet she was still _here_. It probably had something to do with the private doctor she had hired returning to the national health service. He ignored the looks he was being given by the doctors and nurses. It seemed the patients didn't seem to care about his presence, but of course the staff probably weren't used to seeing a determined teenager stalking down the corridors unaccompanied. He finally found room 243 and stepped inside without knocking.

"Sherlock?" a frail woman's voice asked, barely above a whisper. Sherlock stepped closer, instantly recognising his mother but he'd never seen her look so fragile and weak.

"How are you feeling?" Sherlock asked as he sat down in the chair next to the bed.

"Terrible, dear." she replied honestly. "But I know it will be worth it."

"The doctor told me the tumour grew during the build up. I told-"

"Yes, I know. You told me so." she sighed and reached out her hand. Sherlock took it immediately. "I just wanted to definitely see my youngest son turn 16 rather than possibly see him turn 16."

"You're turning sentimental, mother."

Julie smiled. "Yes, I suppose I am. That's what happens when you find something you care about."

"Took you long enough..." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

She squeezed his hand lightly. "I know. I'm sorry. I would give anything in the world to change those years I had with you. It is better late then never though."

"I suppose so."

"I always knew my boys were going to be special."

"All decent parents say that." Sherlock said bluntly.

"Yes, but they don't know it. I do. At least I do now. I waited to say it until I meant it."

Sherlock nodded. "And you mean it now?"

"Of course I do! Sherlock Holmes, you are fantastic, you are amazing and you are most certainly brilliant. Don't you dare let anyone say otherwise."

"Everyone says otherwise anyway." he murmured.

"Well then they obviously don't deserve you. Anyone who agrees with me is a keeper, you understand? One day, someone will see your genius as the good thing it is. Just you wait."

Sherlock gave her a small smile. "Okay." he said simply, not really believing her.

"I wasn't sure if I was going to make it out of here alive." she said honestly. "And when you think you're that close to death, you think about your regrets. My biggest regret was leaving you to grow up on your own. Practically all my regrets revolve around my choices during your childhood. I just left you to your own devices. You were always reading..."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing."

"No, dear, not at all. But you were always studying, trying to get our approval while you were small. I remember once, when you were in year 1 at Bramwell's, your class had been drawing flowers." she smiled fondly. "But of course you came home with an accurate labelled diagram of the plant's structure."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I remember. I misspelled stigma..."

"You were 6 years old, Sherlock. I do believe one small spelling error can be excused."

"I'm glad you're recovering." Sherlock said after a few moments' silence.

Julie smiled at him. "So am I, dear. Hopefully we won't be going through this on your 18th."

* * *

By the time Sherlock returned, Steve was waiting for him in the main reception. "Hey, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked up. "Hello."

"Your mum okay then?" he asked as the pair headed towards Sherlock's room.

Sherlock nodded. "She's making a good recovery."

"Good. That's good... Are you okay?"

"Yeah... I'm okay." Sherlock said, giving him a rare smile. And for once, he wasn't lying.

* * *

**There you go. See I can be nice and let my characters survive, unlike Moffat. Plus I don't throw people off tall buildings or clouds...yet.**


	68. This could only end in disaster

**This could only end in disaster**

"Christmas next week then." Steve commented while Sherlock was packing, the excitement evident in his voice and expression.

"Hm." Sherlock replied blankly, not really looking forward to the festive season. Well, that was a lie. He couldn't wait to leave here for a whole week to go home for Christmas. Normally it wouldn't be allowed but Sherlock's 'recovery' was coming along well and he would be leaving after a few more weeks anyway. The part he wasn't looking forward to was seeing the whole of his family again. The majority weren't exactly fond of him to say the least. Hopefully this gathering would be better though, considering his mother actually seemed to like him this time.

"Not looking forward to it then?"

"Nope. Family." Sherlock supplied as a reasonable explanation.

"Oh right, fair enough." Steve agreed. When the man had been Sherlock's age, he'd turned to drugs after his parents kicked him out after finding out he was gay. His boyfriend at the time was afraid of coming out to his parents so he couldn't stay there either. He'd ended up living on the street. However, he used the last of his savings to come to the rehab and get clean but was supported afterwards by Dr Clarkson, agreeing to come back and be part of the buddy scheme as part of the deal. Steve hadn't spoken to any of them ever since. Sherlock deduced this (well, deduced the majority of it) a few weeks after they met, knowing there was definitely something more to Steve's background.

"I presume you're going away with Martin for Christmas?" Sherlock asked in reference to Steve's current boyfriend.

"Yeah, not far though."

"Isle of White?"

"How did you know?"

Sherlock smiled knowingly but didn't say anything. He snapped his suitcase lid shut and turned towards the door. "Goodbye, Steve."

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock!" Steve called after him.

"Merry indeed." Sherlock commented sarcastically under his breath.

* * *

"Sherlock!"

"Hello, mummy." Sherlock said happily and hugged her.

"How was the journey, love?" she asked as she linked arms with Sherlock and began walking up to their home.

"Incredibly pleasant considering a certain someone- oh."

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock."

"Mycroft." Sherlock drawled.

"Come on now boys, let's get inside." Julie said before another argument over nothing kicked off again.

"Sorry I could not retrieve you, Sherlock. My presence was required at the House of Commons... But of course you don't need to know about that." Mycroft said as they entered the household.

"Oh don't fret, brother dear. In fact, please do put your career before me more often."

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, you know that's not what I meant-"

"Of course not." Sherlock said, feigning innocence. "All I meant was please do piss off to your job rather than keep an eye on me for every second of my life."

"Sherlock!" Julie said sternly.

"I'm voicing my opinion, what's so bad about that?" Sherlock asked, frowning. "You tell me I should more often and yet now it is a bad thing?"

Julie sighed, turning to the butler carrying Sherlock's belongings. "Thank you, Ronald. Sherlock can take his things upstairs." she said, giving Sherlock a pointed look.

Ronald nodded and place Sherlock's bags at the bottom of the staircase. "Yes, ma'am. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No, thank you. You are dismissed."

Ronald gave a short bow before departing for the servant's quarters.

"For now I must return to work. I shall see you later, mummy, Sherlock." Mycroft said with a satisfied smirk playing on his lips before he too left.

"Now, Sherlock, I know you don't exactly get along with the family-" Sherlock interrupted his mother by clicking his tongue. "-_but_," she ignored his interruption. "I do hope you will be civil. I give you permission to leave whenever you want, _however, _I expect you to be present for Christmas dinner and for at least an hour while socialising. Can you promise me that?"

Sherlock looked at her for a few minutes before giving her a tight lipped smile and a short nod.

"Thank you, dear. Now get your belongings upstairs. Guests will be arriving soon."

Sherlock shot her a dark look. "What?" he asked sharply.

"Some of our guests are arriving today." she sad simply.

Sherlock shook his head and laughed humourlessly. "What? I don't even have a chance to be content with just being at home without that lot milling around the place? _Great_." he added sarcastically before grabbing his things and storming up the stairs. This could only end in disaster.

Julie sighed. "It's only for a few days, Sherlock."

"Oh how wonderful!" Sherlock shouted irritably down the stairs.

* * *

By Christmas eve, everyone had arrived. It was practically Sherlock's living hell. Uncle Jeremy was of course one of the first to arrive, but his whole mildly positive attitude to Sherlock had changed completely, as if he blamed Sherlock fully for his brother's death even though he had nothing to do with it (well, not really anyway. It wasn't as if he'd planned it). Obviously he brought his family along, Aunt Sharon showing him the same indifference as usual and then there were his all too pleasant daughters, Verity and Emilia. Two of the most awful girls Sherlock had ever had the misfortune to meet, let alone be related to. There was also his uncle Russel and his family, including the now 18 year old Barnaby, his great aunt Violet on Sherlock's mother's side of the family and all her children and grandchildren, some of which were unfortunately around the age of 6 and so continuously ran around the estate causing havoc, much to Sherlock and Julie's annoyance, especially when they decided to run amok in Sherlock's room, and plenty of faces Sherlock only recognised from photographs which he couldn't be bothered to remember.

Fortunately, he'd managed to avoid any socialising with the group so far, even though it had been requested of him. He couldn't wait for it to be over, especially after last time. He could still remember the strange buzz he got when he was drunk, a very different yet similar feeling to when he had taken drugs. He promised himself it wouldn't happen again.

Why his mother decided to organise this event every few years, he'd never know. He didn't know whether it was because of some stupid reason about keeping up appearances of whether it was some kind of cruel punishment for a crime he didn't commit.

But there was still a small, rare glimmer of hope in him that this Christmas wouldn't be as bad as the others considering his father was gone.

* * *

On Christmas morning, there was a light knock on his door that Sherlock instantly deduced was his mother. "Come in." he called.

"Merry Christmas, dear." Julie said as she stepped inside, ready for the day's events. "You didn't have to dress smart if you didn't want to." she said as she noticed his attire.

"I like wearing these clothes. They're...familiar." he said as he pulled on his blazer. "Merry Christmas, mummy."

She handed him a small package. "First present of the day."

"I thought we were supposed to be waiting for Mycroft?" he said as he took it from her.

"Yes, well, I thought you'd want to open this one away from him. I know how my boys love to mock each other."

Sherlock frowned slightly and opened it, revealing a razor.

"You're growing up so fast, I know you'll need it soon." she said softly.

Sherlock nodded. "Thank you." he said simply as he left to put in his en suite.

"Let's go and join your brother." she said happily.

Sherlock groaned as he walked over to her. "Must we?"

Julie laughed lightly. "Yes, we must. Come on, dear."

* * *

"Merry Christmas, Sherlock." Mycroft greeted him as they walked into the lounge.

"Mycroft." he said in greeting.

"Shall we do mummy's presents first?" Mycroft suggested.

"Oh no boys, I couldn't possibly-"

"We insist." Mycroft interrupted her, giving her a genuine smile.

She smiled and sat down on the armchair opposite the sofa Mycroft was sitting on. Mycroft gave her his present to her while Sherlock walked over to the tree, where he'd placed his present for her a few night's prior. He heard the delighted 'oh!' from his mother as she received a pair of brand new designer leather gloves from her elder son. Sherlock frowned as he searched through the presents. He'd definitely put it here...

"Sherlock?" Mycroft asked.

"It's gone." Sherlock said in a rare confusion. "It was right here!"

"Sherlock, it's okay if you haven't got me anything-"

"No, mummy, I was there when he bought it." Mycroft said for him, also wearing a frown of confusion. Sherlock pushed the other presents away, looking around in places he was sure it wouldn't be unless it had been moved. He heard Mycroft walk over to him. "Are you sure you left it here?"

"Yes, I'm sure!" Sherlock snapped, his confusion turning into anger and annoyance.

"How about we wait until later?" Julie suggested. "Maybe it's just got caught up with some other presents, hm? It'll turn up later, I'm sure."

Sherlock stood up and ran his hand through his hair. It didn't make _sense_. He'd left it right there...

* * *

"Merry Christmas, _freak_." Verity said harshly as she stormed past Sherlock to head for Christmas dinner, when something caught his eye. He immediately grabbed her wrist, revealing the expensive bracelet he'd bought his mother for Christmas.

"You stole it!" he said angrily, not releasing his grip as she tried to pull away.

"What?!" she snapped, scowling at him even more. "I didn't steal anything!"

Sherlock laughed humourlessly. "Oh really? Then why are _you_ wearing the bracelet_ I_ bought _my _mother?"

"What are you talking about? My_ father_ gave this to me if you must know! Let go of me!"

"Give me back the bracelet!"

"No! It's mine!"

"What is going on here?" the voice of his uncle Jeremy interrupted.

"Daddy, he's saying I stole the bracelet from him! The onethat_ you_ gave me!"

"That is a very serious accusation, boy." Jeremy said sternly. "And a false one at that."

"How much was it then?" Sherlock asked immediately, still not releasing Verity's arm from his death grip.

"I don't have to-"

"_Prove _to me you bought it." Sherlock said through gritted teeth. "Prove to me you didn't _steal_ it."

Jeremy's jaw clenched. "£79.99" he said after a short while.

Sherlock chuckled darkly. "Wrong."

"What?"

"I said, you were _wrong_."

"How _dare_ you-"

"It actually cost £89.99. I would know, I _bought_ it."

"Are you calling me a thief?" he asked, stepping up and glaring at Sherlock coldly, trying to stare him down.

Sherlock raised his chin and returned his glare, not allowing himself to be intimidated by someone so similar to his father. "Yes."

"Let go of my daughter."

"You're not denying it then?" Sherlock said, raising an eyebrow.

"I said, let go of my daughter." he said dangerously.

"Not until she returns what is rightfully my mother's." he said in a surprisingly calm voice.

"This is your last chance."

"I said no."

"Right." was all he heard before the next thing he felt was a harsh blow to his stomach.

Sherlock stumbled backwards a bit but laughed. "You'll have to do more than that to convince me otherwise."

Jeremy punched him square in the jaw, the shock of it causing Sherlock to release Verity from his grip, who looked absolutely stunned. "Daddy..." she said wearily.

"Come on, love." he said, putting his hand on her back and leading her away towards the dining room.

Sherlock rubbed his jaw and winced a little. He hadn't received a punch like that in a long time. He was annoyed at himself for not being able to defend himself like before. He was getting slow. He would need to get some practice in before he returned to school...

He followed his uncle and cousin into the dining room a couple of minutes later, immediately noticing the change in the demeanour of the room. A lot of the family already sat down at the table turned to look at him while others were still looking on at Jeremy, holding up his daughter's wrist for them to see. Sherlock clenched his jaw, knowing he had just been falsely informing them on the events in the hallway. Clearly the rest of the family would believe his word against Sherlock's.

"Stay away from my daughters." Jeremy said coldly as he saw him. "Don't you dare-"

"What is going on?" Julie asked as she was the last to enter the room with Mycroft.

"Certainly." Jeremy said, getting his foot in the door first. "Your _son_ here has claimed that I have in fact _stolen_ this piece of jewellery from him to give to my daughter."

Before anyone could say anything else though, Mycroft stepped forward. "Then could you care to explain why you do in fact possess this item? For it looks awfully similar to the bracelet Sherlock bought our mother." he asked calmly. Sherlock looked to his brother in surprise.

Julie scowled at her brother in law. "Or maybe perhaps why Sherlock's gift to me was in fact missing this morning?"

"Well that's obvious!" Jeremy said angrily. "The boy obviously didn't buy you one because he doesn't care about anyone other than him and now he's trying to steal-"

"_How dare you!_" Julie cried, interrupting him and surprising the whole party who were now in a deathly silence, listening to them. "How dare you accuse my son of doing wrong when it is in fact _you_ who has caused this!"

"Excuse me?" Jeremy asked with disbelief. "You're going to believe this- this _druggie_?"

"Mr Holmes, if you continue to behave this way I must ask you to leave." Julie said, standing firm.

"I did nothing wrong!"

"Then why did you hit him, daddy?" Verity asked, pulling out of his grip. "If you did buy it, why are you making such a big deal of it all?"

It's was Verity's turn to received a shocked and confused look from Sherlock. He couldn't believe what was occurring before him. People were actually _defending _him?

"He was attacking you!"

"No, he wasn't. He grabbed my wrist, yes, but he wasn't attacking me. You could have easily separated our wrists but you punched him in the face instead!"

Mycroft rose an eyebrow at the man. "Verity, would you mind taking the bracelet off and retrieving its box please?" he asked calmly. Verity nodded and walked out the room to do as she'd been asked, sending Sherlock what could be counted as an apologetic look for the first time in her life.

The whole room was silent, everyone as shocked as each other as the events drew out. "Jeremy, please leave Estate with the little remaining dignity you have left. Sharon, you and the girls are welcome to stay, but I fully understand if you wish to go."

Sharon was shooting daggers at her husband before turning to Julie. "We shall stay." she said simply. It was clear no one wanted to be around the man, even though it was him against Sherlock. But then everyone respected Julie and Mycroft far more than him, so to them their word was gospel.

"Fine." Jeremy said eventually through gritted teeth, glaring at Sherlock when he left. Verity returned a couple of moments later with the bracelet safely put in its box.

"I'm sorry, aunt Julie... I didn't know..." she said quietly as she passed it to her.

"It's fine, dear. You're not to blame." she said, taking the box from her. "Are you alright, dear?" she asked Sherlock, gently touching the bruise that was forming on his jawline.

"Fine." he said, a little awkwardly. He wasn't used to people staring and listening while someone asked about his emotions. "I'm fine." he repeated.

Julie smiled at him before turning to the group. "Right!" she suddenly announced, smiling broadly. "Merry Christmas everyone." she said brightly as she took her seat at the head of the table, making sure there was a space either side of her for her two sons.

Sherlock sat down next to her and gave her a weak smile. "Thank you." he said quietly now that conversation had started up again in the room and the attention was away from him.

"You're welcome, dear. I didn't want to invite the bastard anyway. I will not allow that idiotic man to ruin our Christmas." she said in a hushed tone.

Sherlock smiled at her choice of words. He'd never really heard her use fowl language before and it was quite amusing.

The meal stretched out for some time, no one noticing the absence of Jeremy Holmes, who had left soon after the meal had begun. Sherlock even ate a reasonably sized portion, listening to the various conversations abut how Barnaby had been accepted into law school and how many books his cousins had received this Christmas.

He had asked to be excused early and this time no one shouted at him or told him to sit back down. He left quietly, no one really noticing his absence, but that was how he liked it.

What he did miss though, was Julie's small announcement to their family about how wonderful a boy Sherlock really was and that if any of them disagreed with her, that they should leave now and never come back.

* * *

"I'm sorry about today, Sherlock." Julie said softly as she took a seat next to him on the sofa, where he was sat reading one of the many new books Mycroft and Julie had bought for him.

Sherlock flashed her a fake smile. "What happened, happened. It could have been worse."

She gave him a pitied look. "Well, before you go back, how about a short trip away? Just you and I."

"Where to?"

"Well, we have our house in the New Forest? How about there for a few days?"

Sherlock shrugged. "If you wish."

Julie smiled. "Lovely. We'll go tomorrow afternoon then?"

"Okay." Sherlock said quietly.

"Thank you for your gift, by the way." she said as she looked down to her wrist. "I can see you put a lot of thought into it."

Sherlock gave her a small smile. "You're welcome. And er, thank you...too." he said stiffly, gesturing to the book.

"You're welcome, dear. Goodnight." she said as she left.

"Goodnight."

Sherlock looked into the fire, watching the flames dance. As far as his Christmases went, this one hadn't been too bad. He agreed with what he'd said.

It could have been worse.


	69. The New Forest

**Ah sorry I didn't update the other day! Was busy so I didn't get a chance... Also, to whoever recommended this fic on youtube, thanks :D And also a huge thank you to all the lovely reviews you've sent me :)**

**Also, just a prior warning that I definitely will not be updating on the 18th and 25th of May as I have nearly all my A level exams during the weeks prior to those Saturdays and I really want to do well! Sorry!**

**And if any of you have been reading this from Boston, I hope you and your family are all safe and well. My heart goes out to you all.**

* * *

**The New Forest**

"Sherlock, wake up, dear."

Sherlock opened his eyes a crack and looked over to his mother.

"We're here." she said softly, giving him a small smile.

Sherlock looked out the window to see they had, in fact, arrived. He must have fallen asleep en route. He'd never done that before. He ran his hand through his hair and looked up at their holiday home. For most people, it would seem rather expensive and attractive, but due to their other holiday homes and their estate, it seems rather middle class for the Holmes family. A simple four bedroomed detached house, red bricked and all. It was common and simple.

And that was just how Sherlock liked it. It was different from the usual grandeur of home.

He got out the car and gathered his belongings, along with his mother's bag and carried them to the house. Other than their driver taking them there, it was just the pair of them for the duration of their two day trip. They were going to be rarely self reliant, but he didn't mind. It would just be him and his mother, away from all the drama at home. No family, no rehab, no nothing. Perfect.

Sherlock followed her to the front door as she unlocked it and stepped inside, inspecting the place. They rented it out while it wasn't being used by them. Just another source of income to add to the family fortune.

"Now, Sherlock." she began, smiling at him brightly. "Once you've taken your things upstairs, how about we go horseriding?"

Sherlock frowned a little. He'd never ridden a horse or ever done anything like it. "Excuse me?"

"Horse riding, dear. It's where you sit on a horse and you ride it."

"I know what it is."

"Well then do you want to try it? I always did it as a girl. I'm surprised I've never taken you before."

Sherlock shrugged as he walked up the stairs. "Fine by me."

"Wonderful. Come down in half an hour. I'll sort everything out."

* * *

"And you get on like so." Julie said, demonstrating as she climbed onto her horse. "Come on."

Sherlock hesitantly looked at his horse, Muffin, or as he simply liked to call it, 'overgrown donkey', before climbing up and onto its back. "This is ridiculous..." he murmured.

She laughed, lightly kicking the side of her horse as it began walking. "You agreed to do it so stop complaining."

Sherlock copied her actions and began riding next to her. "I don't see the enjoyment of this." he said after only a few seconds.

"That's because we're just walking for now."

"Yes, but it is also uncomfortable and falling could cause serious injury."

"But she's taken a liking to you so you will not. Just hold on, dear."

"How can it like me? It's a horse."

"_She._ Anyway, you'd be surprised." she said, starting to trot now Sherlock was getting the hang of it. "My second horse hated me. It kept running around in circles and tried to buck me off every time I mounted it. Stubborn little thing it was."

Sherlock sighed. "I just don't see how they can form an opinion of someone."

"You could say they're a lot like judgemental children."

"What, idiotic and narrow minded?"

Julie laughed lightly. "No, more like they're likely to make a quick opinion of you but still have that element of innocence."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "How do you make it go faster?"

"Kick her side_ lightly._"

Sherlock nodded before doing as she'd said, possibly a little too hard as the horse began to gallop. He held on tight to the reigns and smiled, finding the new pace better than the boring trot. Julie soon caught up with him and smiled. "You're a natural, dear!" she called over. Sherlock smiled in return, watching the ground beneath the horse's hooves and the trees flying by while the wild horses moved out of their path. He rode for what seemed forever until his gaze flicked over to something.

Flashing blue lights.

He changed the direction he was travelling to head over to the ambulance and the police cars gathered around the spot. He could hear his mother right behind him.

"Sherlock, I don't think it's a good idea to-"

"I just want to take a look." he said quickly.

"I know, dear, but-"

"I want to know what happened." Sherlock called back before riding over there faster, only slowing down once they were approaching.

A policeman saw them coming over and stepped to the side. "Is everything alright, officer?" Julie asked, getting down from her horse.

"Unfortunately not, madam." he said, glancing over to Sherlock as he got down too.

"What's happened?" Sherlock asked, approaching the taped off area.

"Sorry but I can't tell you that, son. Private investigation I'm afraid."

"Well I'll just have to have a look then, won't I?" Sherlock said, flashing him a fake grin before striding forward.

"Sherlock!" Julie said sharply, stepping forward and grabbing his arm. "I'm sorry, he's just intrigued by these things." she apologised quickly to the policeman.

"It's alright. Just as long as he doesn't see anything." he said, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock.

Sherlock pulled his arm from his mother's grip and huffed. "Fine." he said reluctantly, walking back to his horse.

* * *

"Well, that was lovely." said Julie once they'd reached home.

"You could say that." Sherlock grumbled, following her inside.

"Oh you're not still complaining about that crime scene, are you?" she said, rolling her eyes.

"Why wouldn't you let me take a look?"

"For one, it's _illegal_. And another thing, it could have been something terrible. It probably was considering they weren't sharing any details."

"You think it was murder?"

"Gosh, Sherlock, you sound far too cheerful about that..." she said, shaking her head. "And I don't know. It's possible but highly unlikely around here."

"An unlikely murder in the middle of the new forest? Now this does sound exciting..." he murmured, smiling to himself.

"Sherlock, no."

"What?"

"No it is not exciting and no you're not going back there." she said sharply.

"I never said I-"

"No, because you don't need to. I know that's what you're thinking."

Sherlock sighed and folded his arms. "Why not?"

Julie laughed humorlessly. "Because, Sherlock, you're a sixteen year old boy! You're not walking onto an authorised crime scene! Mycroft sending you those cold cases is bad enough. I don't want you seeing that kind of thing at your age."

Sherlock groaned. "Seriously? You let me see unsuitable things when I was a child, why not now?"

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the sight of seeing my ribs cracked when I was 10, or possibly when my shoulder was dislocated when I was 8 or, oh yes! Or maybe when I saw my bone sticking out of my arm when I was 7 years old!" he snapped, his voice rising with each word.

Julie stared at him, giving off like she didn't care, that same cold exterior Sherlock wore. But he could still see it in her eyes, the sadness, the regret. And for the first time, he felt terrible for being right.

"Promise me you won't go and have another look." she said in a monotone.

"But-"

"Promise me, Sherlock." she said seriously.

Sherlock sighed. "Alright." he huffed before walking upstairs.

* * *

Sherlock checked to see that his mother was asleep before silently leaving the house, taking the key with him so he could get back in. He could remember the way to the crime scene just as easily in the dark as he could in the day. He had never understood why people found the light change such a contributing factor to getting lost. Everything looks the same, just a little darker. He walked briskly to the scene. It wasn't that far, just a couple of miles but he was eager to see what could have happened.

Once he was there, the ambulance was gone, along with the police cars. They'd obviously got what they wanted from the scene and had more than likely contaminated it beyond repair. He saw the police tape still up around the area but he took no notice and stepped right under it after checking the area for anyone around first. He pulled out his torch and had a look around, seeing what he could work out.

The first thing he saw was the blood.

It was everywhere, the grass was covered in it and there were more than one bloody handprint on the surrounding trees._ Signs of a struggle but not one of a fight, no..._ He crouched down, looking closer at the grass._ Hoof prints. So there was a horse present. No, two horses and two riders._ He looked at the crease patterns in the grass. _Both riders dead, one horse dead, other horse missing. _He stood up again, walking around the scene, surveying the damage. _One horse and one rider shot, going by the pattern of the blood. Other rider..._ He looked at the hoof prints again, now being able to judge which horse was which by the state of their horseshoes. _One set of hooves have blood on front pair. Horse went out of control... Both horses went out of control. First horse shot so rider wouldn't be harmed but why was he shot too? _Sherlock frowned a little, looking intently at the blood on the tree. _Judging by the state of the blood, time of death was about 19 hours ago._ _Wait, what's that?_

_Click._

"Son, you're under arrest." he heard along with the feeling of handcuffs sealing around his wrists.

* * *

"Why won't you just listen to me!"

Sherlock scowled at him. They were all such idiots.

"Because you were at the scene of a murder. A bit suspicious, don't you think?" the detective said, leaning over the table. "It's not exactly where an innocent teenage boy would be hanging around, would it?"

Sherlock scoffed. "You think _I _did it? Tell me then, how on Earth would a teenage boy get his hands on a gun?"

"So you know a gun was used?"

"It's obvious! You just need to look at the blood splatter!"

"You're not helping your case here."

Sherlock sighed and leant back in his chair. "This isn't murder!"

"So you keep saying-"

"Well then maybe you should listen."

"I am listening, to you making a false story."

Sherlock banged his hand on the table. "If I had killed then, how the hell was I still in _London _at the time of death, hm? Or the fact I've been with my mother the whole day."

The policeman sighed. "Your mother has been called and she will be giving us a statement when she arrives."

"Her statement isn't required-"

"You do realise you're a suspect-"

"So you keep saying,_ sir_, but if you had an ounce of intelligence, you would know this wasn't murder at all! It was manslaughter!"

"We've been doing this job for years so we have far more experience than you-"

"Experience counts for nothing if you're not going to use your brain. He was trying to shoot the horse-"

"What makes you think there were horses present?"

"The hoof marks you idiot." Sherlock snapped, annoyed he'd interrupted him. "One of the horses went out of control and so the second rider shot it, but then the other horse panicked and-"

"I think I've heard enough."

"-the rider was bucked off. The first rider tried to tame the horse but it got in the way so the second rider accidentally shot him-"

"Mr Holmes-"

"-so the horse continued to panic and attacked him anyway, resulting in his death, and then fled." Sherlock finished, completely ignoring his interruptions. "It's obvious!"

The police officer sighed and remained silent, getting up and leaving the room when he heard a commotion outside.

Sherlock waited impatiently, listening to the voices outside. He recognised not just the one of his mother's, but two. Mycroft. He groaned and leaned back in his chair.

After a few minutes, the officer returned and opened the door. "You're free to go."

"Oh, so _now_ I'm innocent, am I?" Sherlock asked irritably.

"Sufficient evidence has been supplied to say you are, yes. That along with contacts in high power. But do not _ever_ return to that crime scene or any others. They are closed off from the public for a reason."

Sherlock hesitated in the doorway. "Listen to what I've said and go and look at the crime scene again. I'm right and you know it." he said coldly before walking out.

"You've taken it too far this time, Sherlock." Mycroft said solemnly as he met him in the corridor.

"I was interested-"

"You promised her you wouldn't and you went against your word without hesitation."

"Well that's a lie, I waited until night."

"_Sherlock_." Mycroft said sternly. "Go and apologise to her at once."

"But I-"

"Now."

Sherlock looked at him coldly before walking out into the main reception to his mother. He stood awkwardly in front of her, feeling Mycroft's steely gaze in his back.

"Mother, I-"

"No, Sherlock. I don't want to hear it." Julie interrupted, no emotion in her tone apart from the hurt she was trying to hide. "We are going back to the house and you will pack your things. We are leaving."


	70. Change

**Again, sorry for not updating... Getting some serious writer's block at the moment and with A level exams coming up I don't have much time anymore. So, I've decided to update at random points over the next few weeks until exams are over and I'll get back to a normal routine. I just want to make sure I'm posting something at the usual standard every now and again rather than rushed chapters every week that end up putting you off. Thanks for being so**** lovely and**** patient with me. ****  
**

* * *

**Change**

Sherlock sat down at the dinner table for the last time, thank God. Six months in the same building with basically all the same people and monotonous routine was beginning to drive him to insanity with boredom. Although, the time he'd spent there could have been worse. Steve had been adequate company and Miss Bennet had been sending him schoolwork from his other teachers, along with some work from her university degree.

But at least it was all over. It was his last meal here, the last time he'd be forced to eat with consequences if he didn't. The last time he'd have to see some of these awful faces again. Thankfully no more seeing _Nancy_. That woman annoyed him all the way to hell and back. And no, she didn't bloody well have permission to write about him in the book she was writing, not unless she wanted a ton of lawsuits crashing down on her.

His mother had forgiven him, eventually, and had started her regular visits again. The tension between the pair had quickly dissipated, thank God.

Sherlock half finished his meal, knowing they couldn't threaten him anymore for not finishing and going before Dr Clarkson could make any awkward speeches about him leaving. He returned to his room and continued packing, eager to finally leave for good.

"Knock knock." Steve said, lightly knocking on Sherlock's open door.

"You can come in." Sherlock said, not looking up.

Steve stepped into the room, which seemed considerably more empty since Sherlock had packed away most his belongings. "Are those even yours?" he asked, smiling as he saw some books piled up next to his bag.

"They are now." Sherlock said as he put them in his bag. "Let's just say they're compensation."

Steve laughed and sat on the end of his bed. "I think I'm actually going to miss you once you're gone." he mused.

Sherlock smirked. "I doubt it. Most people can't wait to get rid of me." he said nonchalantly.

"Nah, I'm going to miss the chaos you bring. Once you're gone it will mainly be good little boys and girls who just happen to have a drug problem."

Sherlock smiled. "Sorry you're losing your source of entertainment."

"Well, you were even more badly behaved than me and I was bloody well entertaining."

Sherlock chuckled lightly. "I presume Clarkson has already set you up with someone else?"

"Yeah some kid named Andrew. Ecstasy or something."

"What happened to patient confidentiality?"

Steve waved his hand nonchalantly. "Who are you going to tell anyway?" he chuckled.

"Clarkson?"

"Yeah, but you hate him just as much as I did. You wouldn't tell him."

Sherlock shrugged a little. "How do you know I wouldn't?"

"I don't."

"Precisely."

"I just know you won't."

"But you can't know for sure."

"Yeah but if you do tell him, I'll just tell him about you sneaking into the school rooms at night and stealing some of their books."

"Blackmail? Honestly, Steve. I thought you would know I don't succumb to blackmail."

Steve shrugged. "It was worth a try."

Sherlock smiled a little. "I won't tell him."

"Good." Steve said simply, smiling to himself for being right. "I'm definitely going to miss you though."

"Well, I'd hate to stay any longer so you'll have to suffer without me."

"Seriously though, Sherlock," he said, writing down his phone number on a piece of paper. "If you ever need to chat or have any more problems, you can call me, alright?"

"I doubt I'll need to."

Steve handed him the paper. "Just call me anyway. I'd hate to lose you."

Sherlock took the paper from him and looked between it and the man in front of him. _Why would he..? Oh. OH._ "Listen, Steve, I know things didn't turn out with Martin-"

"God! No! Sherlock, that's not what I meant by that at all." Steve said, laughing a little. "No. I just meant as a friend, if you want to keep contact, call me."

"Oh, right." he nodded, pocketing the piece of paper.

"You're not my type anyway. You're too...lanky."

Sherlock smiled, putting away the last of his things.

"So you're going back to school now then?"

Sherlock sighed. "Yes, I suppose." he had missed school and the freedom it had given him, but he couldn't help but think that it would be different when he returned.

Steve saw his reluctance and smiled. "It's better than being here anyway." he reasoned.

"You could say that." he said as he picked up his bags.

"I suppose this is goodbye then." said Steve as he stood up again.

Sherlock nodded, grabbing his coat. "I suppose it is." he said, holding out his hand.

Steve smiled amusedly and shook his hand. "Good luck."

"I shan't need it."

"Of course not, but have it anyway."

Sherlock gave him a quick smile before walking to the door.

"Call me if you ever need anything. Someone to talk to, support. I'll be there."

Sherlock glanced back and him and nodded. "Goodbye, Steve."

"See you around, Sherlock." Steve paused. "Actually, hopefully I won't have to see you around here again."

"You won't." Sherlock said simply, flashing him a smile before walking away. For once he was glad to find Mycroft already waiting with the car, ready to take him home. He ignored whatever his brother was saying (something about Dr Clarkson wanting to say goodbye) and got straight into the car. He sighed of relief as the driver took him back to his family home. Two days there before he returned to school. He was going to make the most of his freedom.

* * *

"You know that if you ever want to leave that place, you can come straight home, okay dear?" Julie said as she did up Sherlock's school tie, which he planned on taking off as soon as he was in the car. He might possibly even burn it by the time he got there.

"Yes. I know." Sherlock said simply.

"I don't understand why you're set on going back there. The school is good enough but it's obviously having a bad influence on you."

"The school didn't cause me to take drugs, mummy. It was the dealer invading the school premises."

Julie sighed and pulled off the few pieces of fluff off of his blazer. "Alright, Sherlock. I'm trusting you to go back there. But I've got a surprise set up for in the summer so if you step a toe out of line, I will cancel it, understand?"

Sherlock frowned a little. "What kind of surprise?"

"Something you'll enjoy." was all she said on the matter. "Now, have you got your nicotine patches?"

Sherlock sighed, pulling the box out of his pocket and showing her.

Julie nodded, fiddling with his tie once more. "Good. Just make sure you behave. You'll thank me when it's summer."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine." he muttered. He'd find out whatever it is in the next few weeks anyway when she wrote to him. Either that or he'd draw it out of Mycroft.

"Goodbye, dear." Julie said, kissing his cheek. "Be good and don't forget to write."

"I shan't." he said as he walked over to the car. "See you at the end of term."

Sherlock closed the door and waved back at his mother as the car pulled away, taking him back to school.

* * *

He looked up at the familiar building and sighed. He was thankful he'd be away from the constant surveillance he had been receiving at the rehab and at home. He grabbed his bags and stepped inside to the reception to get his key back, annoyed to find Hannah Crey fussing over him.

"Sherlock! It's good to see you back. All better now?"

Sherlock sighed. "Yes." he said in a bored tone, hoping to put her off.

"We were all worried about you-" Sherlock scoffed, interrupting her. "Poor Miss Bennet had to take a couple of weeks off from the shock of it all."

Sherlock paused. He never had thanked her for saving his life, not properly anyway. His mother had told him to go and thank her as soon as he arrived again, possibly buy her a gift as a thank you. He hadn't, of course. He didn't see the point in a gift. '_Oh yes, thank you for saving my life. Here, have some flowers! Are we even now?'_

"Anyway, your key." Hannah muttered, interrupting his thought pattern. "Here you are." she passed it to him and he frowned.

"My room number has changed." he said simply.

"Yes, you're sharing again or something." she said, typing something on her computer. "With James Butler."

Sherlock sighed irritably. _Mycroft_. "Brilliant." he muttered in an agitated tone as he turned towards the door.

"Oh and Sherlock!" she called after him. "Mr Crey wants to see you once you've settled back in. As soon as possible please."

"Fine." Sherlock said, walking back into the main body of the school.

* * *

Sherlock knocked on Mr Crey's office after he'd gone and unpacked, seeing that James had already being staying in the room for at least three months.

"Come in." he heard the headmaster call from inside the room. Sherlock stepped opened the door and closed it behind him.

"You wanted to see me." Sherlock said simply.

"Yes, take a seat Mr Holmes." Mr Crey said, already sitting down behind his desk. Sherlock could tell already that this wasn't going to be the normal pleasantries the man usually shared. He did as he was told and looked at him expectantly.

"Where is your tie?"

"Not on me."

"I can see that, Sherlock. Why are you not wearing it?"

"I don't want to."

"It is school regulation to wear the appropriate uniform. I expect to see you wearing it next time we see each other."

Sherlock sighed. "Yeah, okay, whatever." he muttered with no intention of doing as he'd asked.

"Good." Mr Crey nodded. "After recent events, certain new regimes are being put into place."

Sherlock frowned. "What kind of regimes?"

"Well, for a start, I'm sure you're aware you will be sharing your room with Mr Butler again so you won't be left alone for long periods of time, just in case."

"Just in case of what?" Sherlock snapped.

"In case you relapse." Mr Crey said simply. "_Again_. Anyway, carrying on-"

"I'm not going to relapse. I never relapsed in the first place!"

"And yet you've spent the last six months in a youth rehabilitation centre after you were found overdosing on cocaine. The facts say otherwise."

Sherlock scowled at him. "This is ridiculous."

"It's all for the greater good, Mr Holmes." Mr Crey replied. "As I was saying, you will attend all of your lessons, and I mean _all_ of them. You will have a form which each of your teachers must sign if you are present for the whole lesson, so do not bother asking for them to do it at the beginning. If the form is not signed or a teacher alerts me that you have not turned up for lesson, you will immediately have a detention and have certain privileges taken away from you."

"We have privileges here?" Sherlock asked, frowning a little.

"Yes. For most people that would involve trips into the local village and towns, but for you it would be the use of the labs, which brings me onto another point. When using the labs, you must be accompanied by a member of staff at all times for health and safety regulations and to make sure you're not doing anything dangerous. Also, you must have a curfew of 9 o'clock each night, signing in with Hannah each night. That is all."

Sherlock shook his head, a smile of disbelief on his lips. "This is stupid."

"This is _necessary_. You brought this upon yourself, Sherlock."

"It's not fair. This is an invasion of my rights."

"No, Sherlock, what isn't fair is that after all your antics, we had to search every single dorm room for drugs and _everyone_ came out clean. We had to invade the rights of every single student because of your behaviour. Some of them aren't very pleased with you to say the least."

Sherlock sighed and leant back in his chair. "Are we done here?"

"Almost." Mr Crey said, pulling out a folder and handing him a sheet from it. "Here is your first form. If I see any missing signatures, you'll be in trouble."

Sherlock snatched it from his hands and stood up.

"Mr Holmes, you do realise that if any of your old behaviour continues, you will be immediately expelled. Do you understand?"

Sherlock let out a bored sigh and rose an eyebrow at him. "Yes. Fine." he said before walking out the door, leaving it open just to annoy Mr Crey.

* * *

Sherlock had returned to his dorm room, unpacking the last of his things and remembering his timetable which would start again the next day. But after a short while he decided to go and see Miss Bennet afterall. However, as he was walking there, the end of day bell rang and people came flooding out of the classrooms and labs.

The crowd parted like the red sea upon seeing him, only those who didn't realise who he was passed him by without a glance but that was a couple of oblivious first years. They all glared at him as he continued to walk and he ignored them all. They were a bunch of idiots anyway. There were most likely to be countless rumours going around about him on why he had overdosed. He had just needed an escape. Was that really that big a deal? Fine, so maybe he'd taken just a bit too much but that shouldn't cause such moronic people to invade his privacy. What was he saying? Privacy didn't exist anymore. Whatever privacy he did have in the past had been stripped away from him. He hated it.

"You're brave to come back you here little shit." he heard before he felt hands on his shoulders, forcing him backwards before he was pressed to the wall. He didn't flinch or react, just stared at the person who had said it. Tony. He'd been lucky enough to avoid him most of the time he'd been at the school, but considering the teacher's had searched all the rooms, it was more than likely there were multiple items Tony didn't want to be discovered that were taken away.

Tony slammed him into the wall again. "Why are you back here you fucking fag?"

Sherlock sighed, knowing the inevitable would come. "Congratulations on your subconscious alliteration."

"Don't get clever with me, Holmes." he sneered, leaning in close to him. "You know what's coming?"

"Oh I don't know. You're going to beat me up?" he drawled in a bored tone, noticing the forming crowd and their pathetic expectation of a fight.

Tony shook his head, stepping away from him. "Not yet. I'm planning something special for you." he said, smiling mischievously.

"You're taking me out for dinner first? Thanks, but no thanks." Sherlock said, stepping away from the wall and wiping the dirt from his shoulder.

Tony smirked. "You think you're funny now?"

"No, merely bored of your conversation."

Tony chuckled. "Well, if you want dinner, he's your starter." he said simply before punching Sherlock harshly in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him and causing him to double over. Sherlock internally kicked himself and stood back up properly, throwing a punch at Tony's jaw and hitting him hard, only to receive the same to him moments later, along with the feeling of his arms being restrained by two other people. His back hit the wall again and Tony violently hit his stomach repeatedly before finally he was released. He slid down the wall, gasping for breath, having no energy to fight back. The crowd dissipated, leaving only them. Tony spat on him and stepped away. "You'd better watch your back, freak." he said coldly before he and his friends walked away as if nothing had happened.

Sherlock let his head fall back against the wall, trying to get some air into him. He closed his eyes and ignored the 'it serves you right' glares and looks he was getting until he felt a supportive arm around his waist, hoisting him up off the ground. He opened his eyes and frowned a little.

James sighed, supporting his weight. "Welcome back, Sherlock." he muttered and began walking in the direction of the dorm rooms.


	71. Framed

**Right, so the next chapter I will be uploading will be on 8th June because I would have finished all my AS exams. Sorry for the inconvenience of the long waits. Extra long chapter to make up for it?**

* * *

**Framed**

Sherlock had awoken the next morning with aching ribs after James had left him in his room the night before. Thankfully he hadn't told Mycroft since James had informed him he was still telling his brother about how Sherlock was doing. Sherlock got up, releasing it was 5am, 4 hours before his lessons started. It wasn't exactly early for him, but the majority of the school was locked until 7am and he could exactly jump out the window 3 floors up.

He quickly changed, ignoring the sting of his ribs as he was pretty sure he was going to have to get used to again. He sighed and walked out his room, noting James was still asleep and, unless his sleeping habits had changed, he would still be sleeping for the next couple of hours before going down to breakfast. He sat down on one of the chairs and looked at the pile of books on James' desk. There were far more than last year but that was probably because he was studying extra hard. Come to think of it, he had been alone when he helped Sherlock. Normally he was surrounded by his friends. Seems James was taking his education more seriously now that his last GCSE exams were coming up.

Sherlock got up and picked up a few of the books, looking at them a bit closer._ He bought them himself then._ He opened one and began folding the corners of the pages which would be of most importance for him, eventually grabbing a pencil and underlining the things he'd need to know. He didn't realise how much time had passed until he heard James finally emerge from their dorm room, changed and ready to go down to breakfast.

"Sherlock, what are you doing with my books?" he asked hesitantly, picking one up off Sherlock's makeshift pile. "I didn't realise you were such an avid underliner."

"I'm just pointing out what you'll need to know." Sherlock said nonchalantly, returning the book he had just finished to the top of the pile.

James smiled a little. "Thanks." he muttered, putting his book back down. "Why?"

Sherlock shrugged a little. "I was bored. Anyway, it's useful to refresh my memory on the simpler aspects of these subjects even though it's rather unnecessary."

James looked back to the books Sherlock hadn't touched and smirked. "That would explain why you've left my design books."

"Pointless subject, James. Creating a box out of wood isn't exactly going to be useful in future."

"Hey! It is if you want to be an engineer."

"Hm. I suppose." Sherlock muttered, bored of the conversation.

James rolled his eyes and walked to the door. "Coming down for breakfast?" he asked, hesitating in the doorway.

"Not hungry."

"No? I'll tell Mycroft."

"I'll burn your books."

"I'll tell Mycroft and he'll buy me new ones."

Sherlock sighed and got up, looking down at him in the doorway. "You're going to tell Mycroft no matter what anyway." he huffed, walking past him and into the corridor.

"Well apparently your mum wants to make sure you're still eating." James shrugged, catching up with him.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh great. Thanks, mummy." he said sarcastically.

"She's concerned about you. It's fair enough. You're finally starting to look healthy."

"I don't see how any of this is your concern."

"Alright, maybe it's none of my business, but you were practically skin and bone when you left. You actually look normal for once."

Sherlock frowned at him and increased his pace. James caught up with him easily, his recent growth spurt meaning he was only a couple of inches shorter than Sherlock.

"Seriously though, you should stick to whatever diet plan you had while you were away."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I only eat when I need to."

"You're an idiot." Sherlock scowled at him.

"I apologise, am I suddenly unintelligent because I choose not to eat at every available chance? No, I'm not. I eat to maintain basic bodily functions at the basal metabolic rate. My_ mind_ is what is important, not my body."

James sighed. "It's not as if your mind can cope with being malnourished-"

"It does and it will. This," Sherlock indicated to his body. "is just transport for my mind. Now just accept that and move on."

"It's not healthy. To be honest it's stupid-"

"You don't care about my health. All you're concerned about is my brother's money in your hand. So just get off my back and go and eat with your, what seem to be, non existent friends." Sherlock said before he stormed off in the opposite direction to the canteen.

James chased after him and pushed him from behind. "You're such a bastard sometimes, you know that?" he said angrily.

Sherlock turned around, his expression completely void of emotion. "Congratulations, that only took you 5 years to realise."

"And what do you mean 'non existent friends'? I'm studying for my bloody exams! Just because I'm not around them 24/7, doesn't mean that they're not my friends anymore!"

"You barely see them. Our dorm room would be in a far different state to what it is now if you were still friends. It would be much messier and would smell different."

James laughed humorlessly. "Oh right, I get it. You and your bloody deductions! I don't bring my friends back to my dorm room out of respect for you because I know you don't like them. That doesn't give you the bloody right to say I have no friends like you!"

Sherlock clenched his jaw and stepped closer to him, staring him dead in the eye. "Well how pleasant for you, Butler. Personally, I do not see the point of friendship. No one ever sticks around for long, so don't bother trying to build any kind of relationship with me. Don't even bother trying to be my acquaintance. Tell Mycroft you've changed your mind and you're going to stop taking payments because Sherlock Holmes is no longer someone you associate with. You would also wish to change rooms, because no one wants to be with the drug taking freak."

"Sherlock, I-"

"Save it, Butler." Sherlock said warningly before stepping away and turning around, striding away so James wouldn't be able to catch up with him again.

* * *

Sherlock's life began it's same, monotonous, dull routine. Wake up, go for a walk, go to lessons, go to the library at lunch, go to afternoon lessons, occasionally eat dinner, go back to the dorm room, ignore James and go to bed, not that he slept most nights.

In between his routine, he would become a punchbag for various people. He'd given up fighting back anymore. It just made it easier. They were yet to cause any damage that would require a visit to the hospital, but he had stolen one of the first aid kits from the nurse to clean up the mess. He'd managed to keep James blissfully unaware, unsure as to whether he had done as Sherlock had told him to or not. He wouldn't want Mycroft finding out about this. He'd try and sort it and and scold him for not telling him sooner. It was better for it to carry on and remain oblivious. He didn't want his help.

Tony still hadn't made his move but Sherlock didn't care. It wasn't as if he was going to kill him. Sure, Tony was probably one of the most rough people to have ever attended the school, but inside he's just a coward like the rest of them. All bullies were. He wouldn't kill him. Well, he was 96% sure of that fact anyway once he'd calculated all the variables.

But he was bored. He'd done as Mr Crey had asked and stayed out of trouble like his mother had said, still not being able to extract what the surprise would be for the summer from her nor Mycroft. They were both being surprisingly tight lipped and just ignored all his blackmail. Even when he wrote to his mother, all his guesses were ignored and were given the same response: '_be patient_.'

Currently he was in his room during one of his frees, screwing on a bolt that he had stolen from one of the disused closets down the English corridor. By the time they noticed it was gone, Sherlock would probably be in a different dorm room completely. He'd also stolen a rather strong magnet that no one would miss, which he could use to close the latch from the other side of the door, meaning he could lock it while he was away from the dorm room. He was sure James had been in his room, going through things, probably under the request of Mycroft. He was most likely looking for drugs, which, much to Sherlock's own surprise, would have been impossible to find as he hadn't bought any more. Andy hadn't contacted him and he hadn't contacted Andy. It was as if his dealer had vanished off the face of the Earth. At least he couldn't just get some more and start up again, although several times over the last few weeks he had been tempted to start using again, just to clear his mind and distract him for a while.

Instead though, he'd started ordering things. Everything was still a mess but everything now had its place. If something wasn't where he'd left it, he would know someone had been going through his things. But one thing was missing.

His scarf.

It wasn't as if he'd been wearing it recently, nor would he need to considering it was summer, but he couldn't work out how he could have lost it. James wouldn't have taken it. It wasn't as if Sherlock was sentimental, but James would have known it was an important item to him, along with the fact Sherlock would have known about its absence.

"Mr Holmes?" came the familiar voice of the headmaster through his dorm room door. "Could you come out please."

Sherlock put the screwdriver in his draw before opening the door and stepping into the hall. "Something I can help you with, sir?"

"Missing something?"

Sherlock frowned, looking at his scarf in Mr Crey's hand and reaching up to take it back. "Where did you find that? I-"

"-misplaced it?" he asked, pulling it away from Sherlock's grasp.

"Yes." Sherlock said simply, his frown deepening.

"Come with me."

Sherlock followed the man as he walked to his office, wondering what this could be about._ Why did he have his scarf? What purpose would he have with it?_

"Take a seat, Mr Holmes." he said sternly.

Sherlock did as he said. "Obviously something has happened which you believe concerns me." he said bluntly, leaning forward. "And yet all I've done is follow the rules you have set me and nothing more."

"Do you recognise any of these items?" Mr Crey asked, getting out a box of what appeared to be a collection of valuable items.

Sherlock leaned forward and took the box, putting it on his lap as he looked through it. "No... Although I do believe this necklace belongs to Sally Donovan." he said, holding up a necklace. "Would you like me to identify the rest of the owners? And, considering why I'm here, whoever is the thief?"

"That won't be necessary."

"Then why am I here?" Sherlock asked, putting the box back on the table in front of him. _Hang on_. "Wait... You don't think-"

"Stealing is not something we take lightly, Mr Holmes."

"You think_ I_ did it?" Sherlock scoffed, looking at him in disbelief. "Under what proof?"

"Miss Bennet found the items in one of the disused drawers in her lab, the lab which you use most often, along with the fact this," he said, holding up the scarf. "was found in Miss Donovan's room after she reported her missing necklace. I think that's enough proof, don't you think?"

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. "Good try, sir, but you're incorrect. I did not steal these items. I haven't stolen anything."

"But you cannot deny the facts-"

"There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious fact." Sherlock interrupted, raising an eyebrow at him. "I have clearly been framed for this, most likely due to your searching of the dorm rooms due to me. It's someone's chance to get their own back on me."

"Mr Holmes, you scarf was-"

"Found at the scene of the crime?" Sherlock finished for him. "Please, do you honestly believe I would be that stupid to wear my scarf in the _summer_ and then _leave it behind_ where I stole items of value? Whoever set this up thought they were being clever, but clearly they're not- oh." Sherlock breathed, shaking his head a little. "This was Tony, wasn't it? He said he'd get me back..." he murmured.

"Pardon?"

"Tony. You know who I mean. I'm surprised you haven't expelled him by now."

"Sherlock, there is no point in trying to place the blame on someone else. Your mother has been called. She's on her way, along with your brother, to discuss with me whether you should have a future at this school."

Sherlock scowled at him. "You wish to expel me over a theft which I didn't even do?" he asked, laughing humorlessly.

"This is a very serious matter and must be discussed. Expulsion is a possibility but it is not set in stone. There will, however, be very serious consequences."

"This is ridiculous. How incompetent must you be to believe that I'm the one who should be held responsible?"

"Sherlock, you are walking on fragile ground. I'd advise you not to make your situation any worse."

Sherlock clenched his jaw and stood up. "Am I free to go, _sir_?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, you may go." Mr Crey said with an exasperated sigh.

Sherlock stepped out his office, shaking his head out of disbelief. He rounded the corner, only to feel himself be pulled back by his collar and get slammed back into the wall. He winced as an arm pressed against his neck, cutting off his breath.

"This is just the beginning, freak." Tony spat, punching his chest hard and knocking the air out of him. He grabbed his scarf from his grip before he let him go and threw him to the ground, kicking him hard in the stomach. Tony smirked down at him before ripping his scarf in half, throwing the pieces down at him and giving him one last kick before walking away.

Sherlock tried to take deep breaths to get his breath back from where Tony had winded him, but it was no use. He heaved himself up, with his now ruined scarf in hand and the harsh blow to his head, from where he'd collided with the ground, made him feel more and more dizzy as he walked towards the dorm rooms, using the wall as a support. He unlocked the door to his dorm and stumbled inside. He fell gracelessly into his armchair as he slipped into unconsciousness.


	72. Actions have Consequences

**I'm back! Updates will be regular again and to those of you I am PMing, _I will finally reply to you in the next few days_. Sorry for making you guys wait so damn long... A thank you to myraid-souls and a guest with the suggestions with this chapter. I've incorporated them a bit but more of your ideas will appear later :) If any of you guys have a suggestion for my fic, feel free to leave them in the reviews or send me a PM, even if they're for previous chapters. I will be doing a rewrite once this fic is done anyway.**

* * *

**Actions have Consequences**

Sherlock awoke feeling something touching his head. He automatically reached up and grabbed the wrist holding the ice pack against his temple, causing James to cry out and drop it.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked defensively, standing up before gripping the armchair as he got lightheaded.

"Wow, that hit on the head must have got you good." James said, rubbing his wrist where Sherlock had grabbed him. "What does it look like I'm doing?"

Sherlock lifted his fingers to his temple, feeling the rather large bump there.

"Sherlock, I'm only trying to help." James said with a sigh.

He snatched up the icepack and strode over to his room. "I don't need your help." he snapped.

"Sherlock, please..." James called after him.

"Leave me alone, Butler." he said sharply, slamming the door behind him.

"At least tell me who did this to you." James said with a sigh, standing the other side of the door. "It was Tony, wasn't it?"

Sherlock scoffed. "So you can go and tell Mycroft? I don't think so." he replied, ignoring his question.

"Sherlock-"

"Stop talking! I don't want to know and I don't care." Sherlock said, sitting down on the bed and holding the ice pack to his head, feeling a sharp pain as he did. He was surprised he'd even managed to get back to his dorm room with an injury to the head like that. That's a life constant beatings for you.

James sighed and backed away from Sherlock's door, finally leaving him in peace. Sherlock fell back so he was lying down on his bed before his phone rang. He groaned and picked it up.

"What?" he asked bluntly, not bothering to look at the caller ID, although he had a pretty good idea as to who it was.

"Good morning to you too, brother." Mycroft said down the phone.

"What do you want?"

"I thought I should best call after...recent events." Mycroft replied, choosing his words carefully.

"Look, if James has called you already-"

"Young Mr Butler has no reason to contact me, Sherlock. He told me he no longer wished to continue our arrangement."

_Shit_. "Oh."

"And what might have Mr Butler told me about?" Mycroft inquired.

"Nothing. He's making a big deal of nothing."

"Nothing being..?"

"I may have accidentally run an experiment which caused a burn on my hand. Nothing I can't handle." Sherlock quickly lied.

"Sherlock, you must be more careful. Didn't Miss Bennet prevent this from happening?"

"I was the only one there."

"The school made it clear to you that you should only carry out experiments with a teacher present."

"Yes but Miss Bennet was unavailable and the other teachers irritate me too much. Why did you call in the first place?" Sherlock asked, changing the subject.

Mycroft sighed down the phone. "There's the matter of the thefts at your school. Mummy and I are on our way now."

"And you're telling me this, why?" Sherlock muttered, just wanting to hang up.

"Did you steal the items, Sherlock?"

"You think I did?" Sherlock asked, scowling at the phone.

"Just answer the question."

"No, I didn't."

Mycroft hesitated a moment before replying. "Okay. We shall see you this afternoon."

Sherlock didn't bother saying goodbye and just hung up. Did his family seriously doubt him? This was ridiculous. He dumped his ice pack down as it had practically melted and so would be of no use anymore. He got up and looked into his mirror. He looked worse than he thought. He had a deep cut on his temple and faint black eye which thankfully didn't make him look like half a reversed panda, but it was still dark enough to tell he had been attacked. He sighed and sat back down his bed, letting his head fall into his hands. How had things gotten this bad? The random attacks in the corridor he didn't bother to defend, the constant surveillance he was under that he didn't bother to stop anymore, the fact he had to lock his door to keep people out, the restricted experiments he could do and now being framed for things he didn't do.

Why did he even bother?

* * *

"Sherlock, I know you didn't do this." his mother said firmly as the three of them sat down outside the headmaster's office.

"It's just a matter of finding out who actually did it." Mycroft said.

"It was Tony. I told you." Sherlock said with a sigh.

"And what proof do you have?"

"He told me."

"Well that's hardly believable to someone like Mr Crey." Mycroft sighed, looking to his phone.

"Mycroft, put that away. Your job can go on hold for now." Julie said in a frustrated tone. Mycroft rolled his eyes but did as he'd been asked, slipping his phone into his blazer pocket.

"Sherlock, I wish you'd just tell us who did this to you." Julie said with a sigh, looking at the cut on his temple.

"What's the point?" Sherlock asked, turning away from her. He was yet to inform them about his scarf, but it wasn't as if it mattered. Johnathan had died years ago. It wasn't as if he cared anymore. He was just an old butler, nothing more. He wasn't sentimental. He. Didn't. Care. Caring is pointless.

"Was this Tony as well?" she asked carefully. Sherlock remained silent, letting her make her own deductions. Julie nodded once before turning to Mycroft, raising her eyebrows at him. Mycroft nodded and pulled out his phone again. "We're getting you self defence lessons once you've returned home." she said.

"Mrs Holmes, Mr Holmes. If you'd like to come in, please. You too, Sherlock." Mr Crey said as he opened the door to his office before Sherlock could argue, standing aside so the three of them could enter.

Julie stood and walked inside, followed by her two sons. Sherlock was made to sit in between them of course, much to his annoyance.

"So, obviously you know why we're gathered here." Mr Crey said as he sat down, looking between them.

"Yes, although you appear to have just completely wasted all of our time." Julie said sharply, pursing her lips a little.

"Mrs Holmes, you must understand that this is a very serious situation and Sherlock has no evidence to support his claim of innocence."

"Mr Crey, have you seen my son's appearance?" she said, gesturing to Sherlock's face. "Do you think he did this to himself? No, sir, he did not. It is clearly a threat to keep him silent."

"Mrs Holmes-"

"No, I'm not finished." Julie interrupted, causing Sherlock to smile a little at the corner of his mouth. He had wondered where he'd got his stubbornness from. "If you remember in the past, Sherlock has in fact _assisted _you in identifying other thieves here in the past. What makes you think he'd just turn around and begin stealing things, against what he's been trying to prevent?"

"I understand you believe your son is innocent, Mrs Holmes." Mr Crey said calmly once she was finished. "But we have no evidence to prove that."

"Fingerprints. Check the stolen items for fingerprints. You won't find Sherlock's on them."

"He would." Sherlock said with a sigh. "He made me look through them once they were found. I've touched them, but not before then and the police are too incompetent to calculate the age of the fingerprints even though it's a simple enough method."

"Anyway," Mr Crey continued. "Most of the items have been returned to their owners. Now, we don't have to get the police involved-"

"No, you most certainly do, sir." Julie said, shaking her head at him. "Because Sherlock didn't do it and clearly that needs to proved to you."

"And you'll find Tony's fingerprints on the remaining items that are yet to be returned. If not, you'll find fibres of his gloves. Cotton, I believe they're made of. When he wears them it helps soften the blow, so to speak." Sherlock said bluntly, leaning back in his chair and putting his fingertips together under his chin.

"That's another thing." Julie said, looking away from her son to the man on the other side of the desk. "How can you blindly allow for my son to be continually attacked on a daily basis?" she asked, not even bothering to hide her anger anymore.

Mr Crey sighed. "This school has strictly no tolerance to bullying but-"

"_But_? Are you honestly about to defend the students here who are attacking my son?" she practically shouted. "This is utterly ridiculous."

"Sherlock doesn't exactly befriend anyone either so-"

"Stop. Right. Now." Julie said warningly, standing from her seat. "If you were about to blame Sherlock for the bullying, I warn you, sir, I will not hesitate to shut this whole institution down."

"We're getting off topic." Mr Crey said, only just not giving in to her intimidation.

"You're standing on thin ice, Mr Crey." Mycroft said, glancing from him to his mother then back again. "I believe you should listen to our mother."

"Thank you, Mycroft." Julie said, not waiting for his reply. "I will be pulling my son out of this school once he has completed this current school year. It appears it was a mistake to bring him here in the first place. Your school has seriously turned downhill since the years Mycroft attended." she said with a sigh, sitting back down. "I would pull him out now if it weren't for the exams he will be taking in a few weeks' time."

"I apologise that you believe you have to make this decision, but that is not what we're here to discuss. The fact that Sherlock stole-"

Mr Crey was cut off by the door bursting open with a rather flushed looking James Butler stumbling through it.

"Mr Butler, you may not just walk into my office unannounced!" Mr Crey said, standing.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I believe you should see this before you make your decisions on Sherlock's punishment." he said, stepping into the room and placing some paper on his desk, only glancing over to Sherlock momentarily, who was frowning in confusion. _What was he doing?_

"These are statements from some of the people who had reportedly stolen items, saying when they think their items went missing." James said, moving the pieces of paper into a separate pile. "All signed by them of course. And here's Sherlock's timetable. You would own the forms Sherlock's teachers would need to sign, yes?" he asked.

"Mr Butler, I know you're trying to help-"

"Yes and that's exactly what I'm doing. Now do you have the forms or not?"

Sherlock's frown deepened. _Why was James trying to assist him in this?_ All he'd ever done recently was be cold and distant to him.

Mr Crey sighed and got out the forms. "What are you trying to prove here, Mr Butler?"

"Look, Sherlock has been attending all of lessons but if you look at when these people think their things have been stolen, they are _during_ some of his lessons. It's impossible for Sherlock to be in two places at once."

"But there are also items stolen during his free periods."

"But I also have Tony's timetable." James said, pulling it out of his pocket. "Courtesy of your daughter before you ask. He has frees when the items were stolen, including the same frees as Sherlock."

Mr Crey took some time to look at the papers, double checking what James had said. James looked back to Sherlock and gave him a small smile, only receiving a scowl in return.

"It appears what you're saying is true..." Mr Crey said quietly. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention. You may leave."

James nodded, looking back to Sherlock once more and smiling at his mother and Mycroft before walking out.

"Well, it seems after recent information... Sherlock seems to be innocent." Mr Crey said simply.

Julie shook her head. "I know he's innocent. A sixteen year old _boy_ just did more research in a few hours than you have done since the first theft. I cannot believe how poorly this school is being run." she said as she stood up, indicating for her boys to do the same. "I hope you will find a punishment fit for this other boy." she said before walking out before the headmaster could reply. Sherlock smirked at the man before following his mother out.

* * *

Julie turned to Sherlock and smiled. "You're okay staying here until the end of the year, yes? If not I'll go in and pull you out of here right away."

Sherlock nodded. "I'll be fine here." he assured.

"You call me straight away if you change your mind, alright?" she said, resting her hand on his cheek.

"I will." Sherlock said simply. "You should probably leave if you wish to reach London by nightfall."

Julie nodded, kissing his cheek lightly. "Goodbye, dear. You stay safe now, okay? And I wasn't joking about the self defence lessons. You're going to learn how to defend yourself properly. Judo or karate or something."

"I can assure you I don't need-"

"I just want to make sure you're safe." Julie said with a sigh, straightening his tie for him. "I do not think I would be able to forgive myself if anything bad happened to you again."

Sherlock gave her a short nod. "I'm fine."

"If you say you are, I'll believe you. Don't forget to write." she said as she turned and walked to the door.

"I shan't forget." Sherlock said, watching them go and noting how the pair looked at each other. He could tell they were planning something.

Sherlock returned to his dorm room, opening the door slowly to see James sat at his old laptop. It seemed he never did collect enough money from Mycroft to buy a new one for himself. He looked up at Sherlock expectantly, but what to expect he wasn't quite sure.

Sherlock stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him and clearing his throat. "I, erm..." he began. "What you did back there was useful and... Your assistance was...helpful." he muttered, looking out the window.

"I think the words you're looking for, Sherlock, are 'thank you." James said with a slight smile.

"Right. Yes. Of course. Thank you." Sherlock said quickly before walking to his room and closing the door behind him, finding the situation more awkward than he'd wished it to be.

He laid down on his bed, just thinking about what had happened. By the end of the school year, he was getting out of there. He had no idea what he would do between this time and university, but he was getting out. He closed his eyes and for the first time in a long time, he felt genuinely happy.


End file.
